A Book by its Cover
by TheLocket
Summary: Being held captive by the Avengers is boring, and Loki detests being bored. It's time that he reminds his brother and friends just how formidable he can be, on the battlefield and in other spaces... like the bedroom. (Because, as Darcy will learn, the only thing better than Captain America's body is Loki taking it for a test-drive.) (Jane/Thor, Darcy/Loki, Starcy, & many more...)
1. Muffins

It's Thursday evening, around eleven o'clock — Jane and Thor's date night — and their date hasn't even started yet. It's amazing how intergalactic crises can put a hold on romantic plans.

Eventually, though, enough is enough. The new galaxies will still be there tomorrow morning, still waiting to be discovered. They won't go anywhere, Jane promises herself, repeating the words that Thor has been saying all evening in varying tones of jest and annoyance. She switches off her tablet with a sigh, leaning back on her mountain of pillows.

"Alright, alright," she calls in defeat. "The electronics are off and stowed."

When she hears no response, she adds, louder, "My device is no longer in my hands!"

She knows that Thor doesn't like competing with her science, and if she's worried about geodetic effects and Kepler theorems she can't fully enjoy that way he earns his title as a god of fertility.

"And I'd like my device to be in _your _hands," she mutters to herself as she plays with the frills on her nightgown. Usually she wears large free science t-shirts to bed, but as good as they were for a giggle — Thor especially enjoyed the "renewable energy" one with a smiling lightning bolt — after a long day of trudging through data sets, feeling a bit feminine is all she needs. That, and Thor's exceptionally nimble fingers and tongue. Preferably somewhere below the waist.

When she still hears no response — and instead some clanging, like he is messing with her plumbing, again — she calls out, "Thor?"

There's a huff and some inaudible muttering.

"Just a minute," he calls back through the open bathroom door. She tries to wait patiently. After all, she did make him wait, so it's only fair. But it's more than boredom that's making her fingers trace circles on her bare thigh.

"Are you coming to bed anytime soon?" she asks, trying not to sound sullen.

"I'm afraid that's going to be a problem," the voice calls, and a figure steps around the doorframe. Jane looks up towards the top of the doorframe and finds only space; her eyes search downwards about two feet and land in surprise on a figure that is most definitely not her boyfriend, but a person who is shorter, with darker hair, fuller lips, and a much more feminine body shape.

The full lips open and it's Thor's voice that comes out: "I was worried something like this would happen when we allowed my brother back to Earth."

Jane is over to inspect in a matter of seconds, forgetting her frills and tingly thighs for the calls of Science.

"Is this… Sif?"

"No," Thor's voice replies from Sif's face. "Well, it is her form," he admits. He sounds weary.

"And Loki…?"

"I wish I could say this is the first time he's done this… but…"

Jane watches closely as the slender eyebrows draw together and the lips pout; it's strange seeing Thor's expression of this other face.

"I am sorry to ruin your evening," he adds, and like always he means his apology.

"Oh no, not at all," Jane replies, distracted. She reaches out to poke the breastplate and it feels real, even though she knows Thor was really wearing a cotton t-shirt. "I don't…"

After a moment lost in her mind calculating conservation of matter and Cartesian dualism, she blinks and seems to return to the present. An idea has occurred to her.

"You know, it doesn't have to," she says. "Ruin the evening, that is."

Sif's face responds with a scowl, a pensive scowl that definitely is one of Thor's trademark expressions.

"I do not follow."

"Well," Jane murmurs, trailing a hand down the armor until she reaches warm skin. "It doesn't _have_ to ruin my evening," she repeats.

She smiles a bit awkwardly, wondering how blunt she's going to have to be with him. Fortunately, he follows and saves her the embarrassment.

Although he says it with a kind look, his refusal still hurts.

"I think not. That would dishonor the Lady Sif." He shifts and glances down at his borrowed body. "I am sorry, Jane."

"That's alright," she lies, her voice too high. "I'll just…"

The noise of the tablet booting back up is too loud, and Jane has to remind herself not to make a scathing remark about how at least something is getting turned on.

She gets through another two spreadsheets before she has to say it.

"Are you going to go talk to him?" she attempts after a long moment of silence.

"In the morning. Goodnight, Jane."

* * *

The SHIELD break room is never empty, but after she realizes Jane hasn't eaten since the night before, Darcy drags her boss there. Even if a late breakfast can't fix anything, it certainly makes things better. After nearly a week, Darcy knows every little thing helps. She doesn't have to ask what's making Jane even more scatterbrained than normal.

"How many times is this?" Darcy asks instead, picking at her bagel.

"Six!" Jane squawks, flapping her arms indignantly. "I mean, the first time it happened, I was kind of intrigued…"

"I bet you were," Darcy says with a wink. Jane ignores her and plows on.

"But the second night and the third…!" she shakes her head. Her breakfast is uneaten. Her hair is all over the place, and she is wearing the same clothes from yesterday, three layers of ratty free t-shirts.

"It's getting ridiculous," Darcy agrees, smearing more cream cheese on her bagel. "You need to get laid. And deserve to."

"Damn right I do," Jane says, nodding emphatically.

"So just take care of it yourself," Darcy suggests through a full mouth.

Jane's eyes widen and she begins picking at the coffee stirrers, straightening the creamers left on the break room counter. She lowers her voice and admits: "Thor doesn't like that. He says it makes him feel left out if he's not there…"

"I'm not saying kick him out of the room—"

"And he thinks it's inappropriate if he's in her body and I'm… and _he's_…y'know…" She trails off, pink around her ears.

Darcy blows air through her lips like a horse. "What a ridiculous double-standard. We both know that when he's back in his body, he's not hesitating to handle his own hammer."

"Darcy!" Jane shushes her, jerking her head towards the figure at the kitchen's round table. The 1940s haircut is recognizable from across the room, and the flag regalia is pretty hard to miss.

"What, I said hammer," Darcy objects.

"He's not _that_ out of it," Jane whispers, giving her a pointed look.

"Fine," Darcy mouths. "Anyway," she continues at her normal tone, "I think you deserve to do as much…" — she searches for a euphemism — "… muffin baking as you'd like."

Jane is scandalized — apparently too much to object — and stares at her with wide eyes.

"I mean," Darcy continues. "If a guy ever told me how to… bake… my own muffin, I'd dump him."

There's rustling over at the table; the newspaper folds up sloppily and the chair pushes back, squeaking across the linoleum.

"And," Darcy calls out, her voice several decibels louder than necessary, "I'm very good in the kitchen on my own — my own muffin — baking my own muffin — with my hands — in my kitchen — my muffin…"

That is definitely Steve Rogers' cue and he rushes out of the SHIELD Level 3 kitchen. His face is so red that it clashes with his red stripes; Darcy grins.

"Darcy!" Jane chastises her. "You need to stop doing that!"

"What, he's hot," Darcy replies through her bagel with an over-exaggerated shrug. This is an excuse in her mind.

"Well, he's never going to say 'yes' to your little overtures if they're so…"

"Tchaikovsky 1812?" Darcy supplies, using her hands like little fireworks to demonstrate her own lack of subtly. When Jane looks surprised at the reference, she adds, as though offended, "What, you don't know what music I have on that iPod of mine."

Jane glares and returns to obsessively straightening the kitchen supplies. Again, Darcy has gotten distracted.

"I'm sorry you're being cock-blocked by an Asgardian trickster god," she forces herself to say with a straight face.

At this, her boss looks up, but with a puppy-dog expression.

"Do you want me to go talk to him," Darcy continues, more of a statement than a question.

"You're the best Darcy!" Jane coos, squeezing her in a rare hug.

"Gosh, I know you're horny but can you please stop trying to grab my ass?"

There's a crash outside and another patriotic blur streaks by. Before Jane can yell at her again for being insensitive, Darcy rolls her eyes.

"What, does he not know how hallways work?" she gripes.

* * *

It isn't hard to track Thor down — Level 4 weight room, where he has frightened away all the trainees as he hefts ridiculously full barbells around.

"Whaddup," Darcy says, announcing her presence as she drops unceremoniously down on the neighboring bench.

"Hello, Darcy," Thor replies darkly. He looks like he means business. His hair is tied back in a ponytail, for goodness' sake. It would be funny, except he also looks like he is ready to murder someone.

Darcy decides to jump right in: "So Jane tells me that you've been having some troubles…"

When he doesn't say anything, she adds, "… at nighttime… in the bedroom."

"I understand," Thor interrupts her. He thunks the weight down on the ground, rattling the entire floor. "And yes, we have had… troubles."

"What's the deal?" Darcy asks.

"Loki enjoys his tricks," Thor says, and that murderous look manifests in the way his eyebrows become a single long line.

"And he does this often?" she prompts him.

"Unfortunately. He enjoys playing with forms."

This is a distracting concept, but Darcy knows what is at stake and goes into problem-solving mode.

"Is there any way to get him to stop?" she attempts. "What have you done in the past?"

"Physical violence always tends to work," Thor admits. "I once used an axe when he mocked Fandral… and a mace that time on Vanaheim… and I did shove him up against that wall when he took the Captain's form."

He seems pleased at the idea that something so simple could solve his problem, but Darcy is distracted and all but does a double take, squeaking out, "Excuse me?"

"Oh yes," Thor replies, chuckling. "My brother greatly enjoys parodying great men."

"So does he know exactly _how_ great of a man Cap is…?"

"I do not follow," Thor admits.

"Yep, glad you don't," Darcy replies, eyes wide. "Okay, good talk."

"Yes?" Thor asks, leaning back in toward his barbell.

"Yep-excellent-much-okay," Darcy replies in one word, beelining out of the gym.

"Where are you going?" Thor calls after her, sounding concerned.

"To talk to your brother," she mutters to herself.

* * *

The level of Stark Tower devoted to Loki has enough security to keep out the entirety of SHIELD — and Darcy is pretty sure that's what it's made to do. It also keeps Loki in, thanks to Jane's handy combination of Asgardian handcuffs and ankle tracker devices. He has been on magical house arrest for almost a month without incident — unless you count his unnecessary creative interventions on Jane and Thor's sex life.

Darcy knows the code because Jane knows the code, and Jane knows the code because she has to make alterations in the tech occasionally. This is not something she should probably know, and she has been saving a visit for when she feels she can use it best. Now might be the time.

The door slides open and Darcy is ready with her taser, the charging noise buzzing. It's strange, but the noise comforts her.

No one is in the main hall. This throws her and she almost turns to leave, a bit confused to see nothing but clean tiles and empty walls. No dead bodies or bloody swords anywhere. Is she in the wrong apartment?

"How good of you to come," a voice calls, and before she can second-guess herself, Darcy follows it. He is in the living room, reclining sumptuously on a stark white couch. Darcy gulps, the taser flopping aside as her hand goes limp. People warned her about the genocide and the manipulation and the rage, but no one warned her about the leather pants.

"Hello," he says cordially. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

"Darcy." She cocks an awkward hand in a sort of half wave and he returns to his book.

"I assume it isn't necessary for me to introduce myself," he replies as he turns the page.

"I might enjoy it," Darcy replies honestly.

He looks up and affords her with a full grin, a Cheshire cat one and Darcy knows she is in trouble.

"Why is that?" he asks pleasantly. His voice says: I am going to enjoy this. Darcy shivers, and it's not entirely out of fear.

She blurts out: "I hear you do good impersonations."

Loki smiles, leaning forward, and it's the evil smile she's heard about. There's no warmth in his eyes but the dimples could fool you.

"Any ones in particular?"

She is certain he can hear her gulp from across the room.

"Uh well Sif for starters…"

"Oh yes." He leans back onto the couch and reaches for his book, immediately disinterested. His voice is faraway as he tells her, "I assume my lovely brother must have sent you."

"Yeah and he told me about some others like... the… uh… Captain America?"

The green eyes slide over to her and a ghost of a smile makes his lips twitch.

"Did he?" he asks pleasantly.

"Yeah."

"Don't you Midgardians have some expression about curiosity and the pussy."

"I want to call that a Freudian slip," Darcy mutters.

"Pardon?"

"I—just—pussy..." she mutters hopelessly. "Never mind."

There's a silence and he looks at her, baffled, as though doubting her sanity or her IQ.

"So can you do it?" she finally asks.

He scoffs at her.

"I hardly think that the Avengers are keeping me here to perform party tricks."

"I don't think they're even keeping you at all," Darcy admits. He looks intrigued, so she continues, "I get the sense you don't do things you don't want to do."

"And why would I want to do this for you?" he asks.

Darcy trails her free hand down the buttons of her blouse and watches as his eyes follow the movement.

"No reason," she says, trying to be nonchalant.

It's a stalemate: they stare at each other for a long moment.

The stillness is broken when he sits up, shifting his green blouse, and suddenly Steve Rogers is staring at her in his star-spangled outfit just like this morning, but it's definitely _him_, especially the way that his eyes are measuring her like a cat eying a mouse.

"How's this?" he asks with an overly saccharine smile — and it's not his voice anymore, either. Darcy tries to suppress another tingle going up her spine. "Care to have a rousing discussion about American values and this great star-spangled nation?"

"Not particularly." Her eyes are wide and her voice betrays how awed she is.

As he turns to look at her, she has to remind herself that it isn't Steve Rogers that is looking at her like that.

"I-I was wondering," she continues, rolling her lips between her teeth, "how… complete… your impression was?"

He grins again and she adds, stalling with false bravado, "Just so I can fully judge…"

Before she can react, he is standing and has unbuckled the belt. Without any fanfare he drops both layers of clothing to the ground.

Darcy is pretty sure her jaw might fall off her face.

"I assume this is what you were referring to?" he asks coolly, smiling a perfect Disney prince smile with all of Steve's perfect Disney prince face.

She nods mutely, unsure of whether she can form coherent sentences.

Constrained by the pants around his ankles, wearing someone else's skin and an American flag costume, Loki should look ridiculous — but he seems at ease and glances leisurely down at the appendage receiving such intense scrutiny from his new acquaintance.

"I've heard you like to make unnecessary innuendos about such body parts," he says in his own voice. "I do as well."

He leisurely unfastens the breastplate of the Captain America armor, tracing fingers on the bare flesh.

"I suppose certain phrases come to mind, with my expertise," he adds.

"Hung like a horse?" Darcy blurts out. Loki glares at her sharply through Steve's eyes, and she knows she's going to pay for that oblique reference to his mythology.

"I always find that _battle _is the best comparison," he snaps.

As she stares, he shifts his hips, enjoying the way she follows the movement and flushes. There is a moment of silence, and he regains his composure now that she has lost hers.

"Selecting a sword is not only about shape and length," he continues, "but it's about heft. Something you can't tell just from looking at the blade."

Steve's blue eyes slide up to her face where they rest for a moment as his hand stretches to test his own girth, his own response, his own length.

Although a witty response is somewhere in her brain — something about impaling and handling and sheaths — Darcy is not even capable of stopping herself from emitting a low whine.

There's a snap followed by a sizzling noise.

"Oops, I must have…" she trails off, realizing that she gripped the taser too hard and it went off, violently attacking the couch.

She watches as Steve's eyebrow quirks, and his tongue wets his lips, his hand never straying from the steady rhythm at his hips.

"Oops," he repeats, in Steve's voice. His eyes are half-lidded and a lazy smile pulls at his perfect lips.

His steady pace picks up, and his breath matches. She can see the curves of his bare chest heaving as he pants, and his full lips are open and it's just her name he's saying over and over in Steve's voice and that could be enough for her.

"Care to join me?" he asks, in a strained tone of Steve's voice she's never heard.

"Would I." Darcy snarks, the weight of her sarcasm marred by the way she can't seem to get any breath in her lungs.

She glances over to the mirror to fix her hair, when suddenly she realizes the double meaning in the Trickster God's words.

It's the attractive and beardly face of Thor that mouths her words, "I am so going to hell for this."


	2. The Princess Bride

That evening they decide to stay in. It really isn't a decision, but both of them have given up on any romantic plans. They are both in nesting mode, which involves lots of blankets and snacks. Jane snuggles all the way into her fleece blanket so that only her small head is visible above it. She's quite warm, especially as she is using Thor's muscular pectoral as her pillow.

"Jane?" he asks her gently after a moment. "I believe the movie is over?"

The credits have been scrolling for about three minutes — they're down to the names of lighting staff and assistants in small font — but Jane hasn't moved.

She inhales deeply and snuggles back into her boyfriend's chest like a contented cat.

"That was so nice," she murmurs, enjoying the way his laughter makes his chest rumble and she can feel it through her whole body. There is a scratchy feeling on her hairline and the soft press of his lips on the top of her head.

"I am glad you enjoyed it," he says softly.

"I did enjoy it," she says, smiling, and turning so that her face is buried in the crook of his neck. "Did you?" she asks into his collarbone.

He pauses before replying slowly, "Yes, I did."

She laughs softly at his hesitancy and kisses the hollow at the base of his neck. "Do you have a problem with William Goldman?" she asks.

"During a swordfight a skillful warrior would never… spin around," he admits. He chuckles again, playing with a lock of her hair that has spiraled around her shoulder. "But it was quite enjoyable. I especially enjoyed the short man. Inconceivable!"

Jane giggles and adds in a heavy Spanish accent, "You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means."

"How many times have you seen this film?" Thor asks between more rumbling chuckles.

Jane bites her lip and blushes, burying her face in his chest once more. "A couple thousand," she admits.

"It is a nice film. I will always come for you," he muses, stroking her hair with his large hands.

Jane makes another noise of contentment and moves so that she can return her lips to his neck, and his jaw, slowly searching for his lips.

"Jane," he sighs, resting his hand on her shoulder.

"Aw, c'mon. It's been a week. Maybe tonight… he'll have better things to do?"

"Perhaps," Thor allows, tilting his face so that she can finally meet his lips.

When she pulls back, he is immediately concerned by her aghast expression.

"What?" he asks, looking down to see whose body his brother has put him in this time.

"Well this is new…" Jane sounds dazed, glancing down at the body of a young Cary Elwes.

"Oh dear," he says, in the voice of Westley, and it's so little compared to his normal voice that Jane has to suppress a little squeal. It's mostly amusement that's making her heartbeat quicken, but not entirely.

"No, no, this is good," she says instead, eyes wide. He looks at her, bewildered, and before he can say anything she launches herself at him to continue their kiss. For a moment she is unsure of how he is going to respond, but she feels him shrug and then his hands find the curve of her waist — and, soon enough, the zipper on her jeans.

Somehow they end up on the bed, with the sheets in a tangle on the floor and their own bodies splayed somewhat haphazardly across the mattress.

* * *

"Wow," Jane finally says, still somewhat out of breath. "Wow."

Thor stares at the ceiling and she enjoys being able to finally see him as himself again as he reclines, completely unfazed by his own nakedness.

"That was—" She can't find words. Strange? Yes. But somehow, amazing.

Thor looks confused.

"You alright there, god of thunder?" she calls over, almost giddy.

"In the middle of that..." he begins.

"Which time?" she asks, her tone boastful. He doesn't sound as excited.

"You called me 'Westley,'" he says, and there's something like disappointment in his voice.

"Well you were," she answers, laughing.

He turns his whole body languidly so he can stare at her, lying sideways with his arm propping up his head. Watching her, his expression is something she can't quite place, almost pensive.

"I'm glad you're you again," she says quietly, and he reaches out to her from across the bed. She obliges, crawling over to nestle herself, small spoon, under his arm.

* * *

"Holy mother of fuck!" Darcy's startled cry wakes both of them up; Jane feels Thor jerk awake against her back and her first conscious thought is that she is naked, and the only sheet still on the bed is only covering their feet.

"Good morning Darcy," Thor says genially, his words slurred a bit by his tiredness.

"Darcy! What are you doing here!" Jane curls up in an effort to cover her nakedness, but Darcy is already snickering into her hand.

"You didn't show up for work—" She breaks off to get in a few breathless giggles. "And I was worried you had thrown yourself off a building or something but it seems that you were involved in some _more pleasurable pursuits_." She leans on the words, because Darcy is never subtle.

"Shall I go make breakfast?" Thor asks through a yawn standing up and smoothing Jane's hair.

Darcy clearly enjoys the view, her eyes wide as she blatantly stares.

"Uh-yeah," Jane replies, distracted by his bare body as he walks out the door. "Put something on!" she calls after him, once he disappears into the hall and she regains her ability to think clearly.

Darcy gives her the thumbs up.

"No wonder you were so… frustrated," she says. "If I had access to that—" she waves her hand in the direction of the open door to indicate where he just went "— and someone was stopping me."

Darcy, for once, looks very serious. "Because I'd kill them," she adds. Jane shakes her head and goes to put some clothes on, because it really isn't professional for you intern to see you naked. "Jane, I'd really kill them," Darcy calls after her.

"So how was your evening?" Jane asks, trying to change the topic.

"Oh, same old same old," Darcy lies easily. "You been working out?" she asks, gesturing at Jane's half-nakedness. She at least has a bra and pants on.

In reply, she scowls and pulls a t-shirt over her head.

"Breakfast is ready," Thor calls from the kitchen, where he is probably cooking in nothing but an apron, Jane suddenly realizes, blushing at the idea.

"Having sausages?" Darcy asks impishly.

"Darcy!"

"And… muffins?"

* * *

They make it from Jane's apartment back to SHIELD around lunchtime, and before they can even get any work down, Darcy drags Jane to the break room "because lunch happens at noon."

"How can you eat again?" Jane complains. As always, as if by Asgardian custom, Thor cooked a ridiculous spread. He's the only boyfriend, she thinks to herself, that will help her to gain weight. (Even if they do work it off later.)

"What, did you have enough last night?" Darcy asks wickedly over the take-out Chinese container. She opens it and gives it an experimental sniff before shrugging and plopping it in the microwave.

"Oh, hello Mr. Stark," Jane says, pointedly. She glares at Darcy as if to remind her that other people are in the room.

The introduction is, for once, necessary; Tony is strangely silent. He stares at Darcy over his cup of coffee, narrowing his eyes to glare through the rising steam.

"Who's this?" he finally asks, jerking his head at Darcy.

"That's my intern, Darcy Lewis — you've met her?" Jane says.

"Oh is it?" Tony asks archly. He steps over and inspects her closer. His eyes narrow even more. His head stretches out to inspect her at a shorter distance, like a chicken.

"Uh hello there," Darcy says, laughing awkwardly. "Wow all you scientists really do have poor people skills," she mutters.

"No, I was just confused is all," Tony replies. He pauses. "You know, I could have sworn that you weren't you."

His goatee twitches and he moves his hand in circular patterns, as though working out a complex problem.

"Well you were you, and then you… well… you weren't."

Darcy looks back at him, her face flushing.

"I'm pretty sure," he continues, "that you were me at some point?" He takes a long sip of his coffee.

Jane forces a laugh: "No, she's Darcy. Sometimes I wish she wasn't but…"

Catching the expression on her intern's face, though, Jane checks herself. "What are you talking about. Darcy, what is he talking about?"

"Nothing…?" Darcy attempts, but she knows it doesn't sound convincing.

Tony holds up a thumb drive.

"You didn't think I didn't have security cameras in my own building, did you?" he asks. "Quite an interesting watch, really," he admits. "Pepper enjoyed it too. Well we both did. We enjoyed it. Together, in fact. At least the first part. We got a little lost during the… third act."

"We all did," Darcy says dryly.

"Darcy, what did you do?" Jane asks. She looks from Tony to Darcy, wondering what she would be doing in Stark Tower. The access codes in the elevators make it nearly impossible to visit many of the floors, except for the few that she has the codes to...

"You didn't," she breathes. "Darcy, you didn't go talk to Loki!"

"I don't think there was actually much talking," Tony interjects, but they both ignore him.

"Well you told me," Darcy argues. "You said 'go talk to him' and I went—"

"I meant Thor!" Jane cries. "Darcy, I meant _Thor!"_

"Well I got a little confused, I guess," Darcy says.

"Pronouns do that," Tony agrees. "There was this one time in Vegas—"

"Tony, not now," Jane cuts him off. He gives her a look of surprise then purses his lips and Darcy thinks to herself that he isn't one to judge. He sweeps out of the room with his classic drama, looking more like Beyoncé than a billionaire inventor CEO, and gives Darcy one more look that says "oh boy are you in trouble" over his coffee.

"Darcy, was it sex?" Jane asks seriously. When she doesn't answer, her boss continues, "This could be really bad. Really bad. I hope you realize how serious this is."

The microwave has been beeping but no one has noticed, especially Darcy now that she is under assault. Jane is in full-blown mama-bear mode, the way Darcy's only ever seen her get over her research and damn it's scary.

For a minute she seems too angry for words and runs her hands through her hair, sighing to herself. Darcy opens the microwave and tentatively takes out her lo mein.

"What were you doing?" Jane asks, almost curious.

"Uh… it's a bit hard to explain," she says through her noodles.

"Well it must be pretty bad if _Tony Stark_ is judging you," Jane replies.

"You have no idea," Darcy admits.

"Well, you can't go back, of course," Jane snaps.

"Of course," Darcy parrots. But as she swirls her chopsticks in her lunch, she knows that's exactly what she's going to do.


	3. Miss Lewis

Darcy knows that she can't leave work early, but she desperately wants to. Normally, she tries to sneak out around 4:30 to get a cupcake at the store on the corner — which usually sells out before 5:00 so it's totally necessary. So she tells herself it will look suspicious if she doesn't even try to sneak out early, right? But as she cross-references data sets, her mind keeps skipping away to a rendezvous she has promised herself, and she knows she's in trouble if she looks half as guilty as she feels.

As she is considering her evening plans and getting herself the teeniest bit worked up, she hears a crash and Jane emerges from her pile of papers.

"Oh my _gosh_," she breathes, looking at though she has been struck by the grandest epiphany. Darcy knows this look — Jane often reaches epic conclusions about two things, science and boyfriends — but she can't help but think that Jane has been thinking about her this time.

"What?" Darcy asks, panicking. She sometimes feels like Jane can read her mind, and ever since she hooked up with an Asgardian trickster god wanted on planet earth for thousands of counts of first-degree murder, she's been feeling a bit paranoid.

"You told him!" Jane accuses her in a sharp whisper.

"I told who what?!"

"You told Loki about my obsession with Westley!" Jane says. "And you told him we were watching the movie!"

"I…" Darcy wants to object, but she can't clearly remember what happened the evening before. It is possible that during her playacting as Thor she could have mentioned her boss's evening plans — for more accuracy of course… But the whole evening is sort of a blur, like the way you can remember someone else's dreams because they've told you about it but it's so far removed from you that you can't even be sure of any of the facts.

"Darcy! Do you realize how dangerous it is for him to know stuff like that?"

"What, are we going to be attacked by six-fingered men now?" Darcy asks, rolling her eyes. Immediately she regrets says 'fingered' as her mind gets sidetracked once more, making her feel suddenly very warm.

Jane harrumphs into her equations and flops back down at her desk, regarding Darcy beneath a curtain of her own messy hair.

"_And_ you should realize just how lucky you are that Tony Stark didn't fire you for breaching security," Jane continues.

"I think he sort of liked it," Darcy admits before she can stop herself.

"Yeah, and he's been ridiculously distracted by that new project of his… what's it called?"

"Ultron," Darcy supplies. She muses over the name for a moment before adding bluntly: "Sounds like a porn star."

Both hear a cough — Steve Rogers is standing by the entrance of the 5F labs in full Captain America regalia. His timing, as always, is perfect.

"Speaking of porn stars," Darcy segues, fixing her hair.

Steve ignores her.

"Agent Sitwell needs to see you, Dr. Foster, on 12."

"Cap, I hate to break it to you, but there's this new invention called _the phone_," Darcy snarks, walking over as languidly as she can manage. It's a showy, sinuous walk, one that makes most men re-correct their line of vision to either of her generous curves.

But the captain stares at her evenly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"We've had a security breach," he says flatly. So much for flirty banter. He's the only guy that Darcy has met that actively cockblocks himself. "And we have reason to believe that Dr. Foster could be in danger. I'm escorting her to guarantee her safety."

"Where's Thor?" Jane asks.

"Waiting upstairs," he responds. "We should go now."

When Steve reaches for her arm to guide her, she brushes him off adding — "Thank you but I can take care of myself."

Steve scowls at both of them, his full lower lip jutting out. Darcy, distracted by memories of what that lip feels like against intimate parts of her body, has to stop herself from dramatically fanning herself. Sometimes, especially around the Avengers, she feels like a spectator, first-row at a fashion show — or a strip club. At moments like these, she has to constantly remind herself not to ogle the agents, or wave dollar bills at them. (Luckily, the latter only happened once and the probie agent, Grant something-or-other, was reassigned following the incident.)

As Darcy considers her own fantasies, Jane packs up her table and her notes, muttering to herself. Darcy catches some of her angry words, something along the lines of, "New Mexico all over again."

Before they make it out the door, Steve turns to regard Darcy.

"And Miss Lewis?"

"Yes?" she asks, stupidly breathless at being addressed in such a fashion.

"I trust you'll go directly home." He gives her a stern and measuring look, the type you would give a dog that know it's misbehaving.

"Where else would I go?" she asks innocently.

* * *

"Honey I'm home," Darcy calls, sing-song, slinging her purse across the cold marble foyer of Loki's Stark Tower apartment. It lands over by the table but she doesn't care. There are more important things to take care of.

She paces through the rooms, half-unsure of the layout. For a moment she gets lost in the pristine bedroom and the shining bathroom. Everything is hospital-clean, almost sterile looking. All traces of their tryst the previous night are gone. The memory is such a confused blur of other people's bodies and unnecessary urgency and rushing that she almost doubts that it happened. As she wanders through the apartment, she finds herself wishing they had slowed down.

Eventually she finds him in the kitchen.

"What a drama queen," she mutters, hand on hip.

Loki is lying on his back on the center island, his feet dangling off the edge due to his ridiculous height. He tosses a completed Rubix cube into the air and catches it easily with one hand; the other hand is holding yet another book before his face.

"Thanks for all the fanfare," Darcy says sarcastically. "Good to see you too."

He turns to look at her, a long look that is both judgmental and intimate, and she feels that unsettling movement in her stomach, like she has just missed a step on a long staircase. He tosses the toy aside to free up his hand so that he can turn a page.

"I baked you cookies," Loki says after a moment, gesturing with an absurdly graceful hand towards the stovetop.

"Words I thought I would never hear you utter," Darcy admits, heading over to pick one up.

When she glances back at Loki, she realizes that his mouth is open. Rolling her eyes to herself, she walks over and places a cookie in his mouth. He bites into it, licking the melted off his lips in an extremely sensual way. It would be very sexy, if he weren't still staring at the book.

"So…" Darcy begins, tapping her fingers into each other awkwardly.

"Five minutes," he replies, not looking away from the pages. "Go freshen up."

Darcy looks down; she felt perfectly fresh. This should annoy her, but then again he does think he is a god. But don't all men? As she argues with herself, she considers broaching the subject with him. The comment makes her think back to previous boyfriends, those that she recalls definitively in the past tense. Then she shrugs and heads to the bathroom. It isn't worth it, and he baked her cookies after all.

The bathroom is, as everything in Stark Towers, unnecessarily expensive looking. White marble, stainless steel fixtures, a tub with jets. She mutters to herself; this is what felons like Loki get? Before she starts comparing it with her own apartment — no reason to get angry now — she decides to follow his instructions. First she removes her outer coat, then pulls at the straps of her bra until there is very little left to the imagination and the view above the scooping neck of her shirt could cause a minor traffic accident.

She's in the middle of attempting to re-curl her hair with her fingers when she feels hands around her waist; looking in the mirror, it's Steve's face that greets her.

"That's better. You look lovely enough to eat," he purrs in her ear. She laughs at bit awkwardly at the cliché, but his hands trace little swirls over her hip bone and she can't help but lean backwards into his tight embrace, enjoying his hard press against her lower spine.

"Loki," she murmurs, unable to help herself from grinding back on him a bit. "You are definitely one of a kind."

"That's not my name," he growls back, pushing back on her, harder and harder until she is almost doubled over, face over the sink as she arches her back to compliment him. His hand reaches around, leaving a tingling line from hip to stomach, until he finally slides his large Captain America hands under the waistband of her pants.

She moans his not-name as he roughly presses against her on both sides: "_Steve_."

His other hand slides around to her chest and she willingly responds, pushing into his touch. The caress of her bare skin above her shirt almost feels like it burns.

"Say my name," he whispers in her ear, and she can't tell if it's his voice or _his_ voice, but she obliges, over and over again, until she can't anymore.

As she's panting against him, he removes his hands and uses them to spin her around, still looking at her with the captain's unnervingly blue eyes.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asks, his voice commanding and rough.

She nods limply, trying not to whimper. Her body knows what to expect this time and it desperately wants it. He knows it.

"Do you want more?" he asks, bring his face closer to her ear so that his hot breath burns the sensitive sink of her neck. He's going to make her beg.

But Darcy Lewis isn't the type of girl to beg. He's still pressed up against her, and it's enough for her to know that she still has leverage. There's still something that he wants, maybe as bad as she does.

"I do," she murmurs, leaning forward to draw a line of hot kisses along his neck, removing his shirt to continue her progress downwards.

Finally she is on her knees. She rewards herself for her headway by removing the rest of his clothing.

Glancing up at him wickedly, she reaches out with both hands to squeeze his perfectly-formed ass.

Loki makes Steve's face twist in an arch look so attractive that it should be illegal.

"Oh, Miss Lewis, you are naughty today," Steve's voice chastises her.

She grins.

"You can punish me later," she says as suggestively as she can, winking for good measure. "But now, it's your turn."


	4. Wrath and Lust

"Darcy, snap out of it!"

Jane's voice makes her come-to abruptly. Darcy shifts in her chair, hoping that she wasn't making any noises to accompany the replay from last night that was going her head.

"Wassat?" she asks, shaking herself like a dog.

"What have you been doing all morning?" Jane asks.

"I dunno," Darcy murmurs. She isn't sure if she's mostly tired from getting nearly no sleep two nights in a row, or if she's dealing with the extreme after-shocks of being fucked nonstop by an Asgardian god. "Wait, did you just get here?" she asks, noticing that Jane is still carrying a box of paperwork.

"Yes!" Jane snaps, chucking the files across the table. She massages her temples. "Please, Darcy, I just need you on this today."

"What's wrong?" she asks, her voice small.

"Aside from the fact that I just spent half of last night telling Fury in explicit detail about the episode of my last intercourse with my boyfriend?"

Darcy giggles before she can stop herself. At Jane's glare she stoppers her mouth by clapping both hands over it and tries to arrange the upper half of her face into some sort of expression of sympathy.

"Well, other than that, apparently someone also wants to kill me," Jane adds.

"Wait, what?"

"Uh-huh," Jane says, glaring at her intern. "Director Fury says that there has been some suspicious activity on my SHIELD profile and when they cross-referenced it with my IP address…"

Darcy isn't listening but instead blurts out: "What does this have to do with your kinky Westley sex?"

Jane glares. "Nothing. Fury just asked me if anything strange has been happening and Thor opened his big mouth…"

"It is quite large," Darcy concedes.

"After we finished explaining that whole mess, then he asked me about the computer stuff and…"

"Sparknotes version for the non-college graduate, please?"

"Someone has been messing around on my files."

Darcy sees the opening for a classic innuendo, but checks herself and instead asks, "Is that bad?"

"Very. They've had access to…" Jane shakes her head, ticking off the options on her hands: "Email addresses, personal information, scheduling information, my bank and social security number… not to mention, apparently, hours of SHIELD surveillance of me working in my lab."

"Creepy," Darcy interjects, resisting the urge to flip off the security cameras in all four corners of the lab. This reminds her that she is yet to find the aforementioned Stark surveillance cameras in Loki's apartment. She wonders if this should bother her. But when she looks over to see that her friend is dazedly staring off into space, she realizes that her own worries can wait.

"Okay, Jane, what can I do?"

"Thanks, Darce," she says, her voice hollow. "It would be great if you could go over the surveillance footage of the lab. Fury thinks it's an inside job."

"Watching movies?" Darcy asks. "Jane, it is your lucky day because that happens to be one of my three main skills along with inappropriate jokes and a record for most skittles consumed during a single viewing of the Lord of the Rings extended edition."

* * *

Six hours into the footage and Darcy is regretting her enthusiasm.

"Jane?"

"What now?" her boss asks tiredly.

"Is my nose really that big?" Darcy pokes at her nose, trying to catch its reflection in her computer screen. From the front, it looks normal, but she can't judge the profile.

"Your nose is fine Darcy," Jane says, for what feels like the millionth time.

"But—"

"As are you eyes. And your neck."

"Are you sure?" Darcy rubs a thumb along the tendon on her neck.

"Maybe you shouldn't be watching this video," Jane cuts her off. "I don't want to have to pay for SHIELD-sanctioned therapy if it's really destroying your self-esteem."

"I…"

But the problem is, it isn't the video. She can't tell Jane, though, that it was last night that's making her self-conscious.

After she had finished — and Loki had as well — she got off her knees and found that a stranger was staring at her in the bathroom mirror.

"Who's this one?" she asked, enjoying the view. The girl in the mirror had brown hair in perfect spirals and sharper cheekbones and bright blue eyes. She was taller than Darcy, and as Darcy lifted her shirt to inspect, had a flatter stomach and even larger chest.

"It's you," Loki replied, stretching into his normal body and lazily running his hands over his body to massage stiff muscles.

"What?"

"I made some alterations, of course," he explained. "Isn't that what you do her on Earth? Upgrading, surgery and all that nonsense?"

Darcy hadn't said anything, because it would be a double standard, asking him to change while wanting to stay the same herself.

But reviewing the footage, Darcy began to realize that he was right. She would look better without those flaws. Now that she had seen a better self, her normal self looked dreary and mousy.

"Darcy?" Jane asks, and once again Darcy rubs her eyes to clear the memories.

"Never mind," she mutters. "Just a long day."

"Get some coffee," Jane suggests.

Darcy stands to comply.

"And get me one too!" Jane calls after her.

* * *

"Grande mocha extra cream and extra sugar?" Tony Stark offers her, pouring her a mug of the stale coffee that has been sitting in the Level 3 kitchen all afternoon.

"Ugh," Darcy responds, accepting the mug. When she realizes he has a mug of his own instead of his normal Starbucks take-out cup, she points and asks, "What's your deal?"

"The recession hit us all pretty hard," Tony snarks, sipping the brew. He makes a face for comic effect and Darcy can't help but laugh. "But, no, seriously, my normal assistant is taking a day off."

"Pepper does your coffee runs?" Darcy asks, surprised. It makes sense, but she can't imagine the perfectly-poised ginger stooping so low.

"In a way," Tony allows. In his normal manner, he adds bluntly, "She gets me coffee and then we have sex afterwards."

"Ew, TMI!"

"Or during," he adds, reconsidering.

"Anyway, is she alright?" Darcy asks, making a face as though she is trying to erase any images from her head.

"Just had a late night," Tony explains. "Well, you would know. We had a late night because you had a late night…"

"Do you guys really have nothing better to do?" Darcy asks, a bit skeeved out at the idea that she has an audience. She had never thought that she would be enough of a celebrity to have a sex tape, and Tony is almost twice her age. Technically, it isn't her body, but the idea still makes her skin crawl.

Tony shrugs.

"It's free."

They sip their coffee in a very awkward silence. He seems to be working himself up to say something and Darcy is trying not to worry about all the compromising positions he has seen her in.

"And well," he begins. "I know it's not my place to say anything. But it's a limited audience and I feel it's my duty to point out... well, there's something that I've been noticing, and—"

"What is it, Stark?" Darcy asks sharply, cutting off his babbling.

"There's a lot… well, most of the time… a it's… well, Cap." He struggles with the words, refusing to make eye contact until the final word.

"What, is that your favorite part?" Darcy coos.

Again, Tony seems indifferent. "He's got a nice ass," he admits.

"More like spectacular," Darcy corrects him.

"Alright yes spectacular. Although mine isn't bad?" Tony attempts.

Darcy lifts a hand parallel to the ground and shifts it to indicate that Tony Stark's butt is middling at best.

"Rough crowd," Tony says.

"I call 'em like I see 'em."

"No I just… does he know?" he asks.

"The other day I practically told him that I pleasure myself to photos of his face," Darcy says bluntly. "Frequently. So I would say yes, yes he doesn't know. More than he wants to.

Tony gives her another squinty look.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "Because Cap is… well Cap he's not like a normal guy he's sort of… well… you gotta—"

"Hit him over the head with it?" Darcy supplies.

"Yeah pretty much."

They both sip their coffee, deep in thought.

"So you've done it then?" Darcy asks.

"What?"

"Well just to make sure I'm getting advice from a reputable source… you've fucked him, right?"

The goatee twitches again, and Tony Stark takes a sip of coffee.

"I never kiss and tell," he says simply, striding out the room.

Darcy watches him go.

"Nah," she mutters to herself, taking a sip of coffee. "But…?"

* * *

Another three hours into the footage — and an order of pizza for a late dinner — and Darcy is propped up on her hand, nearly sleeping with her eyes open. Jane has left for another secret meeting with the super-spy-boss, and being alone is making it even harder for her to stay awake.

The door bangs open and she abruptly straightens, almost falling over.

"Miss Lewis!" Captain America strides into the room, his perfect hair mussed and falling over his face. He looks livid — his face is pale, his eyes bright with anger.

Darcy wipes drool off her face and offers him a winning smile.

"Hi there —"

"What's this?" he cuts her off, roughly shoving a thumb drive before her nose.

"A USB?" she says, giving him a weird look. "Something about a universal bus? It's like a piece of technology… you know, probably anyone else at SHIELD could describe this better…"

"That's not what I meant," he fumes as though she's playing coy. "Stark gave this to me and he…" He struggles for a moment to describe the technology of it all, but settles on the basics: "He connected it to a screen and showed me a movie."

Darcy is surprised to see that the tips of his ears are pink. Is Captain America blushing?

Abruptly she puts together the pieces and feels herself growing warm.

"I—"

"Don't make excuses," he snaps. "I understand completely."

Darcy wants to melt into a little puddle and seep into the floor and into the gutter under the city and never see the light of day ever again.

"But—"

"You're done," he cuts her off, his voice harsh. "Alright? This is never to happen again."

At first Darcy thinks he's finished; he strides towards the door. But when he gets to the threshold he makes a sharp about face and strides back.

"Did you not stop to think—" He begins, because he can't help himself, and he knows that his voice sounds stern.

"I didn't mean to offend you…" Darcy begins. Stupidly, she feels like she's going to cry. Whenever anyone yells at her, the waterworks start and no matter how hard she tries she feels her eyes filling. She starts to think of how violated she would have felt in his shoes and that little voice in her head tells her, over and over: you're the one making him feel like this. I hope it was fucking worth it.

"Me?" he asks, eyebrows crinkling in surprise. He shakes his head and laughs an angry laugh, and it's cold. When he finally looks back at her, she almost recoils from the rage in his blue eyes.

"Do you think I like wearing this?" he asks, gesturing at his star-spangled outfit. When she doesn't answer, he asks again, quieter this time: "Why do you think I'm always wearing this? Whenever you see me. Do you think it's my _ego _at being America's first superhero?"

He spits out the words; apparently someone else has said them to him. But he's looking for an answer and she knows she has to say something. She'll say anything, just to get him to stop.

"You don't have any other clothes?" she tries, her voice small. Mentally, she's cursing herself. Stupid Darcy, you fucking idiot, what were you thinking.

He looks at her, a mixture of surprise and anger and revulsion — and seeing him look at her like that, she has to press the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob that wrenches at her gut.

"Fury has me on crowd-control every day," he finally says, his voice hard. "Ever since that little incident with the outer-space aliens, the public needs someone like me. All hours of the day, every day."

Darcy sits on her hands to stop them from trembling. She doesn't want him to see, but she knows that he must be seeing how rapidly she's blinking. And she knows that she can't keep it together much longer.

"I've been working nonstop, every day. Consoling widows. Visiting hospitals. Visiting _graves_. Now tell me that what you've been doing is more important than that."

She hugs her knees to try to still the shaking, and she can hear the tears in her voice as she croaks out, "I'm sorry." She feels like if she says it enough he has to stop yelling at her. How does it always end like this?

"And if this little picture gets out," he says, flapping the USB before her again, "All of that public campaigning will be useless."

She does a double-take, from his angry face to the flash drive.

"Is that all this is about?" she asks, looking up at him, feeling even worse.

"There's nothing else," he replies simply. "When I joined the war, I signed myself away to this country. To become a symbol, something to inspire hope. I never imagined that someone would abuse it like this."

* * *

Darcy slams the door to Loki's apartment and strides into the kitchen.

"I want to drive," she says angrily. She has been thinking of a way to phrase it ever since she sprinted out of SHIELD and hailed a cab and somehow this is the only way that makes sense.

"I beg your pardon?" Loki asks, looking up from his counter where he holds a cooking torch to a crème brulee.

She gestures at her body.

"Now," she says sharply.

Loki rolls his eyes at her commanding and she opens her mouth to argue, but suddenly he appears to have shrunk about a foot. She looks down.

"Thank you," she says, and it comes out in a surprisingly deep rumble.

She heads to the bathroom and angrily strips off the clothing: the stupid shirt with it's stupid star and stupid stripes. The pants with their infuriatingly complicated belt and zipper and the idiotic boxers.

A livid Steve stares back at her in the mirror.

"Why do you think you're so perfect?" she spits at the reflection, and she's not sure anymore if she's asking Steve or she's asking herself.

"What is it?" She runs his hands along the hard exterior of his body, the webbing of muscles on his shoulder and under his arm, the curve by his ribs and the rise and fall of his abs.

"What gives you the right? What makes you so fucking special?"

"I'm not quite sure what you're doing," she hears Loki say. Glancing over, she finds him reclined against the threshold of the door, arms crossed. He looks confused. "Is this where the expression 'go fuck yourself' comes from?"

He looks bored.

"Yeah, go fuck yourself, Loki," she says. As he strides over, she sees the familiar green glow spread over his body and suddenly there's another Steve.

She can't help herself; she slaps him, square across the face.

"Was that necessary?" he asks in his own voice.

"Yes," she replies.

He grabs her by the nape of the neck, where Steve's hair stops.

"Then do it," he says, kissing her violently on Steve's mouth. She wants to enjoy the feeling, but instead she shoves him roughly back, enjoying the strength of the Captain's arms and the look that Loki gives her on Steve's face as he crashes into the wall.

As she follows and lands another hit across his face, he laughs, that Loki laugh of his, "Ehehehehe."

He is panting, holding a hand to the swelling at his face.

"You'll never be good enough," he says, and Darcy doesn't know if he's talking to her or to Steve or to a reflection of himself, to the Loki in the mirror wearing someone else's skin.

"Fuck you," she says angrily, shoving his back until he is pressed against the wall.

She has no experience with this and she doesn't know how quite how to do it right, but she isn't moving based on pleasure or affection. She wants to be rough with him. By his soft laughter against the cold marble of the bathroom, she can tell that he's enjoying it, and the rush of anger in her bloodstream, her-his bloodstream, Steve's body, is cathartic. She doesn't know who she is anymore, which body is hers, where she is. She just knows that if she pushes hard enough, grips tight enough, moves fast enough maybe she can, at least for a single moment, stop being Darcy Lewis and lose herself in someone else, someone who is less of a disappointment.


	5. Ex-Lovers and Elevators

During one of their intermissions, while Loki is napping lightly, Darcy helps herself to some of the pastries Loki has been baking. They are frighteningly elaborate, stuffed cookies and flaky French desserts.

"Wow, you bored son of a bitch," Darcy mutters to herself, her voice equal parts pity and awe. She considers feeling sorry for him, but the food is too sweet. Also, she'll just fuck him later to make him feel better. The best apologies involve orgasms, she figures to herself.

As she's onto her third cookie course, Loki strides into the kitchen, padding silently. He is barefoot — and completely naked. Darcy considers his body, not bothering to hide her ogling. It's attractive and well-muscled, but nothing on the other bodies he's worn even that evening.

Like his brother, he completely lacks self-consciousness. She can see every curve of his body as he moves and he knows she is looking. He opens the fridge as she watches. As he is drinking milk, straight from the carton, an idea comes to Darcy.

She looks down at herself, at the way she is wearing panties and a t-shirt to hide her own body. The moment the thought manifests, it becomes a all-consuming desire.

"I want to be hot," she blurts out.

Loki gives her an arch look and takes another gulp of milk.

"I mean, I want you to make me hot. Sexy. Attractive." She adds the adjectives just in case, like his brother, he misunderstands such colloquialisms. It would put a damper on their plans if he transfigured her into a firepit or something.

"Haven't I been doing that?" he asks, brushing past her to grab the last macaroon.

"No, I mean pick anyone," she says, the desperation leaking into her voice. "I want you to want me so bad that you cum all over me before I even touch you."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," Loki says, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"You know what I mean," Darcy says, her patience running thin.

He shrugs.

"And who shall I be?" he asks, popping the dessert in his mouth.

"I don't care," Darcy whines, and she's getting almost hysterical. She just needs to be wanted, needs someone to need her as desperately as she needs people. "Make me perfect and… and do whatever you'd like with me."

Loki is halfway to licking the last crumbs off his fingers when an idea seems to occur to him. As the glow fades around Darcy, she notices that his expression changes.

"Don't say anything," he orders in a low voice, stepping slowly over to him. "I don't want you to ruin the illusion. Don't speak."

Darcy promises herself that she won't even breathe. He steps closer, his face unreadable, and takes a finger to trace the lines of the new face she is wearing.

"I'd forgotten how beautiful you are," Loki breathes, and even though Darcy knows he's isn't talking about her, he is surely talking _to_ her. It makes her stomach jolt with butterflies. His finger traces her cheekbones, the line of her lips, and rests under her chin.

He pulls her closer and he is trembling, so she places her hands over his to still the tremors. They aren't her hands, but they are delicate and soft and white. As he kisses her, she swears that he makes a small noise, almost a whimper, as though this is causing him pain.

She moves to accommodate his hands as they raise up her t-shirt and follow the lines of this new, slender body. When she moves to also remove her panties, he shakes his head.

"Bedroom," he says simply, in a voice that is nearly breaking.

Darcy follows him without a sound and catches reflections of herself in mirrors — a blonde woman, tall and leggy, slender and muscular.

The bedroom is trashed from their earlier bouts, and Loki makes a noise of regret. In a move the sheets straighten and fold, the surfaces clear, articles of clothing disappear into the closet. He is neatening up the room _for her_. The realization makes her feel warm, exactly as she needs to feel.

He watches her, and under his scrutiny she slowly lays herself across the bed, enjoying the feeling of this new skin against the comforter. After a moment of staring at her, his face still unreadable, he joins her, a hand over each of her shoulders, pressed so that he can hover effortlessly above her.

Of all the positions they have tried out over the past few nights, this isn't one of them, and Darcy is struck with unwelcome memories of her first time, a sloppy night with a boy that didn't even acknowledge what it meant to her. It's very high school prom. It would make her giggle, except for that expression on his face.

Somehow, their bodies — Loki in his and Darcy in this strange other body — fit together perfectly, and she wraps her legs around him. She needs to feel him pressed against her and every part they aren't touching makes her skin feel naked. She wants to feel his desperation, his desire, his need for her.

His lips are soft around her face, planting kisses everywhere.

"Sigyn," he murmurs into her ear. She doesn't know who this is or what this is, but she replies with his name. And just for a few moments, they both believe she is someone else, and it's perfect.

* * *

As she rolls over to take a moment process the cloying intimacy of what has just happened, she realizes that Loki is already pushing her back to face him.

His eyes are manic and he kisses her forcefully on the mouth. It feels strange, her own mouth and his own mouth. In all the combinations they've tried, it's never been that. And it isn't for long — he's switching her own body and his between a million combinations. It's like a rapidly-spinning carnival ride and Darcy feels dizzy. Vaguely she's aware that her body is enjoying whatever he's doing and she decides to give up, to give in to the powerlessness and anonymity of being is so many different bodies. She closes her eyes and lets the spinning feeling continue, the rollercoaster. He needs this, and part of her needs this to: to give in, to stop thinking, and let their own selves fall away.

* * *

Darcy assumes that she has slept, but she can't be sure. It's morning, and Loki is loudly eating cereal on the couch. Dazedly she finds her way towards the smell of food. He is dressed and looks like he has showered (although you can never really tell with him) she decides it's best if she does the same. Luckily, the good smell is fresh bagels that he has either baked or conjured or ordered — she doesn't know and doesn't care — and she grabs one en route to freshening up. She knows not to ask about Sigyn, and he knows not to ask about Steve.

Getting out of the shower and seeing her own reflection is a disappointment, and realizing that makes a pit form in her own stomach, like maybe what she's doing isn't healthy, like it's some sort of addictive drug. Shame tinges her cheeks pink, and so she rushes to get dressed in yesterday's clothes. Luckily, Loki has made them look different — the jeans become pants, the blouse changes cut and color. This makes her paranoid that they will change back randomly, but she knows to trust him. If he can hold a form through an earth-shattering climax, she assumes he can do the same throughout a day of intense boredom.

He doesn't ask her where she is going because he doesn't care, and she's not sure if she even wants him to.

"Do you know what floor Tony is on?" she asks.

He doesn't look up from the book he is reading while eating, a new nondescript paperback.

"I need to talk to him about some... incriminating footage," Darcy elaborates.

He slurps his cereal and turns the page.

"Ask in the lobby," he says. And that's it; he's back to his book. He has no interest in talking to her. It stings a little bit, even though she knows it shouldn't. So she leaves, recollecting her bag from where she catapulted it in her anger the night before. Her phone is luckily undamaged, and everything else is salvageable.

* * *

In the lobby they give her a printed nametag and direct her to Stark Industries, the official offices on the seventeenth floor. All the way up, she feels like she is lying. She comes to this building almost daily. She gets past security with her SHIELD id and into the elevator with Jane's code. Doing it officially makes her feel guilty, for some reason.

Stark Office is completely unnecessary, she soon realizes. The halls are decorated with expensive art and have food and coffee spreads nearly every four feet. Of course, it is Tony's company, she reminds herself, and he does enjoy food almost as much as she does. But all the lushness of it, the expensive furniture and fancy colors make Darcy feel completely out of place. She regrets taking the trip and has to remind herself that it is absolutely necessary.

When the desk in front of his office is empty, Darcy hesitantly knocks on the door. It's open, so she pushes it open a crack and sticks her face through.

"Uh, Tony?" she asks.

At the desk, she recognizes Pepper Potts, pen poised on a document. As always, the older woman is dressed in a high-fashion power suit, the kind that would be on a runway but also makes her look like a CEO — which she sort of is, Darcy reminds herself.

"Oh, sorry Pepper," she says quickly, closing the door.

"No, Darcy, come in," Pepper replies. Darcy slowly opens the door, letting it fall half-closed behind her. Pepper is sitting up so straight that Darcy feels a strange compulsion to measure the angle with a protractor. She folds her hands on the documents before her and Darcy feels like she is visiting the principal's office.

"What is it?" Pepper asks when Darcy says nothing.

"I was just wondering if Tony…"

Pepper gives her a sharp looking.

"That video…" Darcy is able to say. "Could it… go away?"

"You're asking me to have security footage of an international terrorist erased permanently?" she asks, pursing her lips.

Darcy has been lying so much that she decides not to bother: "Yeah, basically."

"No," Pepper says simply, and Darcy knows that she's given that exact "no" to Tony more times than she can count. It's not harsh, but makes her realize that her request was ridiculous.

"Uh… okay." Darcy isn't sure what to do.

"Tony has it separated on a non-internet connected drive and encrypted," Pepper says, like this is supposed to make her feel better.

When Darcy remains staring, the ginger clarifies: "It's completely secure. Only he has access to it."

"Okay." Darcy considers this for a minute. "Do you think he can tell Cap that?"

Pepper gives her a measuring look.

"He already did," she says, standing. "Yesterday. I was there." She straightens her expensive pencil skirt and walks around the desk, stacking the papers in orderly piles.

Darcy just stares, unsure of what to do with this new information.

"If that's all, I really have to get back to running Tony's company."

"One more thing… just while I'm here…" Darcy forces herself to ask, "Do you guys really…?"

Pepper could be a sphinx with the blankness of her face. In the back of her mind, Darcy wonders if she's been getting lessons from Natasha.

"This is none of your business," she premises her statement, "but Tony has JARVIS analyze the footage. After that first five minutes… we only ever watch parts with us in it. And by 'we', I mean mostly Tony."

"Okay," Darcy says, even though she doesn't fully believe it.

"And even though this is none of _my_ business," Pepper says slowly, "You do realize what this is, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's just sex, Darcy," Pepper says. "And as someone who has seen a lot of girls get completely crushed when they realize that"— she seems to reflect on a long catalogue, probably of the girls that passed through the Stark Mansion —"I think you should stop before you get hurt."

"You're right, that is none of your business," Darcy says coldly. But at Pepper's words, her chest suddenly feels hollow. It's a drug, there's no denying it, and here is a very intelligent and savvy woman giving her a hand to pull her out of the grave she is digging herself.

"Alright, well I'm off to a meeting with the shareholders," Pepper says evenly, sweeping out of the room. She doesn't add anything. Darcy hears the elevators ding as the doors slide shut. She is alone in Tony's office, considering all the doo-dads on his desk and the expensive liquors in his cabinet, trying not to think about what Pepper has suggested.

* * *

At SHIELD headquarters, the lab feels lonely without Jane, who has been upgraded to lockdown due to the threat level on her changing colors from teal to fuchsia, or something. Darcy has never understood the SHIELD codes and now isn't the time to try. She just knows that every time she looks up from reviewing the footage to see that Jane's bench is empty, she feels a knot in her stomach, and she's been feeling that unsettling jab in her abdomen too many times today.

So she wanders the hallways. It makes her feel constantly in the way, especially when she bumps into suit-clad agents, but it at least gives her a way to get her mind off things.

Of course, she walks into Captain America. He is exiting the men's room, and his face goes from neutral to death-scowl in less than 0.5 seconds.

"Miss Lewis," he says coldly, acknowledging her as he heads to the elevator bay.

"Wait Cap," she says, trotting to keep up. For once, he isn't in his uniform; he's in work-out clothing, black pants and a grey t-shirt.

"I don't think we have anything to discuss," he says formally.

"I was just wondering — Pepper said — well, Pepper said that Tony said —"

He gives her a look that clearly says, Darcy Lewis I am so done with your shit, so she tries to spit it out as best she can.

"The files are safe. No one is going to see any compromising video of Captain America, never ever, not butt-fucking anyone, no pearl necklaces or blow jobs, no sir," she says triumphantly.

In response he looks around, awkwardly making eye contact with the agents in the hall and nodding.

"This is not the time nor the place to discuss this," he hisses.

She follows him into the elevator, not one to let go of a conversation so quickly.

"Look, Steve," she says earnestly, and at his name he looks up sharply, his brow softening. "This wasn't anything personal."

He shifts, holding his hands crossed in front of him like he is in a line-up being inspected by a drill sergeant.

After a pause, he responds, "This was never about that."

She knows he must be lying; his professional excuse is moot and they both know it.

"Look, I wanted to bang you," she says bluntly, and he flinches at her language. "And you didn't want to bang me. So I figured out a way to do it, completely consensual, everyone's happy."

His face is impassive.

Since he isn't making his argument, she supplies it for him: "And I realize it's _your_ body, but think about it… like a twin. It's _your_ body but it's also not."

He presses more buttons on the elevator; it's going extremely slow. Darcy hopes that Tony is watching on the surveillance and helping her out. Or it's fate. Or Fury. But it doesn't matter.

"Look, this is best for everyone," she begs, knowing that they are creeping closer to their destination. "You don't have to put up with my annoying flirtations, and well I get to…"

She trails off.

The elevator doors open and he places a hand to hold them open for her, a completely useless gesture. When she doesn't move he gestures for her to go ahead, and she does so.

"Anyway," she babbles, trying to fill his silence as they walk towards whatever his destination is. "I didn't mean to harass you with all my inappropriate comments and now you don't have to worry about them anymore."

"You weren't harassing me," he says quietly.

"Wait what?" she does a double take and notices that his face is soft now, his eyes downcast. They have stopped walking at some point and he nervously taps his foot.

"You honestly think I didn't get shit like that in the army?" he asks, and he looks adorable in the way he glances at her, puppy-dog eyes.

She feels a rush of heat at his curse word, and it's stupid, but she doesn't care. Her eyes are wide and she's eating up every word.

"Talking about that while I was having breakfast…" he muses. "I almost had to go to the gymnasium level to take a cold shower."

Darcy feels like she rather needs to go take a cold shower.

"Maybe if we hadn't been in the middle of my workplace…" he trails off. A buzzing noise at his hip distracts them both; it's some sort of Avengers pager, Darcy recognizes the Stark signature tech, and he seems almost regretful. So this was about professionalism. He opens his mouth to add something, his eyes bashfully trailing over her chest, before he decides otherwise and walks away, shaking his head.

"Wait no I like the direction this is going," Darcy says, running after him.

"So do I," he admits, and she feels another jolt as a blush spreads across his cheeks. He sighs. "You really do have a knack for picking the most inappropriate settings."

"Yeah, so can we go have sex in a broom closet or something?" she asks quickly.

He withdraws sharply and she almost crashes into him he stops so suddenly.

"No," he says bluntly. "And we're not going to, ever."

"Is that a no on the sex in general or just on the broom closet part?" she asks.

He glares at her but doesn't answer.

"Look, I'm glad that you've found someone to be intimate with," he says instead, and the Captain America mask is back on. He's still blushing, but she can tell that he's back to his persona and the wall is back. "I wish you all the best."

She doesn't know how to explain that all the times she's been screwing Loki, it's been him. And she knows what it's like in that head of his — she's been there — so she knows that he must understand. But for some reason, he doesn't want to admit it. It's easier for him to believe that she's in love with someone else, and for some reason that gives her hope. It's almost like jealousy.


	6. 5C-19

Darcy stands out in the hallway, wondering where she is. She had let Steve walk away from her and abruptly realizes that she is on a floor high above her clearance. After a minute of trying to sort out her thoughts — and spending just a little bit replaying that shy little smile of his, the way his eyes dared to drift downwards — she decides to follow him.

After trying a few different codes she's memorized from Jane and swiping her own ID a couple of times, she bursts through the code-protected door looking more than a bit frazzled

"Steve I—"

"Darcy!" Jane surprises her with a hug-attack, jumping up about a foot to try to make up for their height differences.

"Hi Jane," she says, caught off balance in more ways than one.

"Darcy," Thor says formally, gripping her shoulders. "Thank you."

"Sure anytime… what exactly did I do?" she asks.

"It was brave of you to volunteer," Director Fury says from across the room, and Darcy takes a minute to look around.

At the large conference table, all the Avengers are assembled, except the captain. Steve is leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, glancing up at her from under his brow. Clint and Natasha are also staring from their corner of the table, whatever intimate conversation they were having cut off mid-word by her entrance. Tony gives her a large thumbs-up and grins a sheepish grin; he nudges Bruce and whispers something in his ear that makes the doctor flush.

"Okay," Darcy squeaks out, her eyes wide. "What exactly did I just volunteer for?"

She sees Steve in the corner laugh quietly and when Natasha shoots him a curious glance he quickly turns it into a cough.

"Dr. Foster's security has been compromised," Fury explains.

"And with it, a significant portion of our scientific findings," Natasha cuts in, her voice clinical. "Lab codes, readings, security."

Darcy doesn't care about the stupid data sets, so she ignores the Black Widow and her slinking in her catsuit.

"We're picking a course of action," Steve chimes in all formally; he is composed once more.

"We've had breaches in her personal files, her home network, and her smartphone," Natasha lists.

"What's your play, Miss Lewis?" Fury asks.

"Me?"

They are all staring at her.

"I think we should stick with protocols," Clint interrupts.

"5C, dash nineteen," Natasha agrees.

"And I think we should return to Asgard," Thor argues. "My father and my guards can protect the Lady Jane with far superior strength and loyalty that we wouldn't have to question," he adds darkly.

"And leave Loki?" Fury interrupts.

"Then we take him," Thor responds.

"You know your father won't stand for it, not after what he did," Jane interrupts, rubbing a hand along his upper arm. The two of them share an intimate look, all puppy-dog eyes and gooey smiles that's so saccharine that Darcy almost cries. It's like a romantic comedy.

"You aren't leaving him here," Bruce cuts in, crossing his arms.

"Yeah we all know how that's ended in the past…" Tony mutters, rolling his eyes.

"You wouldn't store potassium near water," Bruce elaborates.

"Or peroxydisulfuric acid," Tony adds, leaning back towards him.

"Or really any Class 5 division 5.2 oxidizing agent and—" Bruce elaborates excitedly, before Fury cuts him off with a glare.

"Bad idea," Tony summarizes. "Big explosion. Boom." He gestures with his hands.

"I'm not hearing any solutions," Fury cuts in angrily.

"Technically, all acids are solutions…" Tony mutters and Bruce cracks a grin. Darcy watches them like a tennis match, wondering if Tony is going to get Fury to provoke him into violence. But it's not Fury that interrupts.

"Stark, please," Thor says, his voice strained. Tony makes a face but stays silent.

"What have you found in the surveillance footage?" Jane asks Darcy.

"Nothing," Darcy replies, disappointed in herself. "Only authorized personnel in the lab — I checked all their IDs against their faces…"

"What does that mean?" Thor asks.

"Inside job?" Natasha suggests.

"Remote access cloning the hard drive?" Bruce adds. "They were never physically in the lab? They just made us this…"

"But the IP address…" Tony corrects him.

"This is a waste of time," Thor cuts in. He isn't one to sit around planning and he is flipping mjölnir around agitatedly. "I am taking Jane home, to our home. We will be safe from any rogue agents there and far away from all this."

The room is silent; everyone looks around, unsure.

"Thor's right," Jane says finally. "We aren't going to figure this out tonight. The best thing I can do is try to reverse-engineer the leaks. Find a common denominator. And I can do that from home."

"5C dash nineteen," Natasha repeats, and Clint nods. "We'll lead you to the safe house."

Something is annoying Darcy, a thought in the back of her mind piping up, but she can't put a finger on the feeling so instead pushes it aside and remains silent. The matter is resolved, at least temporarily, and all the agents disperse: Thor, Jane, Natasha, and Clint to the safe house; Bruce and Tony to their separate labs.

Steve is watching her, his expression guarded, from across the room.

"Rogers, you can take second watch," Fury commands, stacking his files. "Make sure to relieve Romanov and Barton at twenty-two hundred."

"Yes sir," he says formally. "And you, Director?"

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this," he says darkly. "If anyone at SHIELD is even marginally involved in this…"

He trails off darkly, and glares with his one eye.

"Take Miss Lewis with you in the elevator," he says, looking over at her. "She always seems to end up places she doesn't belong, and she may need take some sweet-talking to go down."

Darcy stares at him.

"What?" he asks.

"I really want to — did you just — am I…?" she tries to ask.

He gives her a knowing look and strides away, the black leather coat flapping behind him like a cape.

"Really, you didn't catch any of that?" she asks Steve.

"Not everyone has your gift for innuendo," he says, raising his eyebrows.

"Luckily I like giving and receiving," Darcy says with a wink.

Steve laughs and blushes, diverting his gaze to the floor.

"We should get going," he says instead, heading towards the elevators.

The ride down is too slow again, and Darcy has a million naughty thoughts running through her head of what she could do with him in an enclosed space.

But instead she bites her lip and reminds herself to focus on Jane's safety.

As she's leaving the elevator — blushing as the captain once more holds the doors open for her — her phone rings. Caller ID lists it as a number from Stark Towers, but when she answers, it's Loki's voice that she hears.

"Come here right now."

He hangs up and she stares at the phone, pondering the urgency in his voice.

"I gotta go," she says awkwardly and Steve looks at her with such badly masked sadness that she almost reconsiders.

"Something wrong?" he asks as though personally offended that she has to leave work early.

"I dunno. Loki just…"

At the name, all of Steve's face darkens.

"Alright, goodbye Darcy," he murmurs, but she doesn't hear — she's already out the door.

* * *

"How are you?" Thor asks, coming up behind Jane to massage her shoulders. He is wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, and it should be enough to make her feel comfortable to see him so at ease, but she still jumps at bit at his touch.

"I'm a wreck," she admits.

"The Hawkeye and Black Widow are watching out for us," he smiles genially, caressing her hair. She can tell that he is not as calm as he is acting; this is all for her benefit.

"Yeah, and risking their lives for us," she admits, her voice almost breaking.

"It's their job," he reminds her gently.

"Doesn't make it any less upsetting," she says, knowing that she sounds petulant.

She can feel her own lips turning downwards in a pout, and at this expression Thor laughs one of his deep, rumbling laughs. It sounds a bit forced, and Jane frowns deeper.

He leans over to plant a kiss on her frown, and she allows him to pull her into a deeper kiss, his hands moving to cradle her head.

When he draws back his face is almost fearful, and Jane is surprised to see that for once Loki has not changed him. It's her boyfriend and his boyish good looks, his charming smile, his reckless love for her that shines through any expression.

"It's you," she squeals, gripping his face with both hands.

He smiles, the broad expression a bit restrained by her vice-like grip.

"It is," he replies, pulling her in for another kiss.

Jane has forgotten in these few days how perfect his body is, how much she loves every line and curve. It's not enough just to run her fingers over every plane, but she has to add her kisses, making him laugh as she reaches his stomach, because Thor is always ticklish.

"I'm glad you're glad to see me," he chuckles.

"I'm glad that you're glad," she murmurs, blushing a bit. It's like discovering him all over again, and she feels almost hesitant, embarrassed.

"You know," she murmurs, kissing the side of his jaw, a feat only possible because he has lifted her onto his hips and she has her legs wrapped around him. "Clint and Natasha are right outside."

"Mhmm," he murmurs, sliding his hands underneath her to cradle her as he walks towards the bedroom.

"And we're on high alert here," she continues, giggling again as his hands tighten unnecessarily on her butt.

"Yes," he replies.

"We could get attacked at any moment," she says as he lays her down across the bed and begins undoing the buttons on her shirt.

He says nothing as he mouth is busy; he kisses the skin he reveals as he works on removing her shirt.

"We wouldn't want to get caught in any compromising positions," she continues, her voice going up an octave as he reaches for her pants and slowly removes them.

"Would you like me to stop?" he asks kindly as he removes her underwear.

"Not at all," she breathes. "Is that bad?"

He grins and presses kisses into the inner curve of her thigh and she can feel the smile against her bare skin.

"I suppose it's good to be bad every so often?" he asks.

She tries to answer but he starts doing that thing with his tongue that she loves and she is cut off with a surprised gasp.

Instead of worrying about shadows lurking outside or decryptions or stolen files, Jane buries her hands in her boyfriends hair and closes her eyes, letting this Asgardian god work his magic on her.

* * *

"What do you think they're doing?" Clint asks, twanging his bowstring mainly out of boredom. He holds it like a guitar.

Natasha presses an ear to the door.

"They're having sex," she says matter-of-factly.

"Really?" he asks, his ears all but perking up like a golden retriever.

"Agents, status report," Natasha says into her com, and they listen to the radius of agents sound off from outside. All is clear, and Clint is bored.

"Who's on top?" he asks.

Natasha gives him an arch look.

"Y'know, would it be entirely bad if we…" Clint trails off, lowering his eyes suggestively to Natasha's breasts.

She rolls her eyes at him.

"If you keep talking like that, I'm going to send you to Loki," she warns dryly.

"Wait what?" he asks, confused.

She laughs to herself at her own inside information.

"I bet he'd have so much fun with you," she teases, running her hands down the front of his shirt.

"Well you can have fun with me," he replies, leaning in for a kiss.

She laughs in his face, leaning back from his embrace — but she doesn't move his hands from where they have snaked behind her back to pull her closer.

"Looks like I got the charmer," she jokes sarcastically. When he looks hurt she sighs and gives him a quick peck.

"Back to work, boy scout, we gotta keep this perimeter tight."

Clint shrugs and heads off to make a round through the hallway.

"That's what she said," she hears him call back to her.

"Wow, I'm in love with an asshole," she mutters, shaking her head — but she can't stop herself from smiling.


	7. The Association

Darcy grumbles to herself the whole elevator ride up to Loki's floor; the receptionist at the front desk knows her and that just makes everything worse. She can't think about cosplaying as Tony Stark in the bedroom or whatever Loki so desperately needs her to do while, at any moment, her friend might be attacked by faceless, nameless ninjas wielding flame-throwers. She pauses to consider, realizing that ninjas with flame-throwers would be a sort of oxymoron as the fire would counteract their secrecy. This makes her feel a little better, so she is able to bring herself to open the front door.

"We gotta make this quick," she says, shuffling into the foyer. She turns to close the door, expecting the Loki is off baking ebelskivers or something. She is surprised when she turns to find him right behind her.

"Where's my brother?" Loki snarls, his face suddenly right up against her, his eyes scanning her face.

"Uh…" Darcy looks down; she still looks like herself, so Loki's question is confusing. "I'm lost," she confesses. "Am I supposed to…"

She puts on a deep voice like Thor, her face crinkling with effort: "Ah yes good sir I went to go get meow-meow…"

"Ugh stop," Loki cuts her off with a look of disgust. "I mean," he elaborates frantically, "Where did SHIELD take him?"

"How do you know about that?" Darcy asks quickly.

He gives her a look.

"I am a god after all," he says with a manic laugh, waving his hands to display his body. In a moment the mirth is gone, replaced by a mask of anger: "Now I need you to take me to him."

"No," Darcy says, crossing her arms. His emotional rollercoaster is frightening her, and a warning bell goes off in her mind. Don't trust the trickster, a voice in her head says. "Not until you explain."

Loki grimaces at her and replies through gritted teeth, "We don't have time for this."

But Darcy isn't going to budge, and he knows the fastest way to get his way is to give in her to demands as well. At least that lesson from the bedroom has carried over to real-world applications.

"About a year ago, attack on New York, flying aliens, yes?"

"Yes," Darcy says slowly, her eyes narrowed.

"I am transported back to Asgard—"

"—Where you kidnap your father and take the throne…" Darcy cuts in, rolling her eyes.

"And the Chitauri all fall as their ship is destroyed," Loki continues.

"Yeah, I was there," Darcy snaps.

"You were?" he looks confused, derailed from his quick story.

"Yeah," Darcy says with false bravado, beginning to look embarrassed. "At Starbucks. I dropped my venti latte."

"Ah, well, my condolences for your loss," Loki cuts in, his voice biting with sarcasm. "I suppose that was one of the thousands of casualties documented."

"Anyway?" Darcy prompts him.

"I came back here to take care of the third element in play," Loki says. "The third of my army that didn't fall."

When she stays staring blankly, he nudges her, "_C'mon_, Darcy, you're cleverer than this."

"So you are here… on your own free well," Darcy says.

"Yes."

"And you've been… spying on all of us?" she continues.

"Oh, Odin's beard, how slow are you humans?" he mutters. "Yes, I've been spying on you."

"How?"

"SHIELD has extensive security feeds on all its members, even in their homes," Loki says, waving his hand. "Cameras, microphones, wire taps… It was just a matter of creating a version of myself that could pass undetected into the surveillance rooms. And well, after New Mexico I learned that I can easily pass unobserved."

He breaks off to laugh: "It is a talent of mine, after all."

When she stares he adds slowly, "How else do you think I knew exactly how and when to tease my brother? How else would I have called you? Think, Darcy."

She follows his command and her eyes widen.

"Oh my gosh," Darcy breathes. "It's you. You're the one that's been threatening Jane…"

"No," he replies, sounding bored. "Please do try to keep up. What's the third piece?"

Darcy racks her brain.

He rolls his eyes and answers his own question: "The men working with me. Soldiers, enemies of SHIELD."

"Really?"

"Yes." He glares at her. "They worked along with Barton — lab technicians, guards, soldiers…"

"And?"

"Well they didn't explode with Stark bomb, and they didn't return with me to Asgard," he says, his voice rising with impatience.

"They're still here," Darcy says, eyes wide.

"As I've been trying to explain—"

"Loki, we have to go!" she cries, grabbing him and attempting to drag him by his collar to the door.

"That's what I've been trying to say," he mutters.

* * *

In the cab to SHIELD, Darcy calls through to the director and leaves a message on speakerphone.

"Hi Fury," she says. "Loki's minions are organized against SHIELD—"

"And they're trying to kill Thor," Loki cuts in.

"Thor?" Darcy asks, forgetting about the message she is leaving.

"Obviously," Loki says, once again looking stunned by her simplicity.

"Loki…" she presses.

"I may have wound them up a bit about him," he admits. "Just a bit," he indicates with thumb and forefinger. "The smallest amount… it's surprising how easily anarchists listen to a bit of oratory on the evils of monarchy… some references to my minority status as a Jötunn… throw in adoption and my poor murdered parents…" He shakes his head in mock sympathy.

"You used smooth-talking to work up your army of anti-SHIELD warriors to murder your brother?" she asks, voice incredulous.

"Pretty much," he says with a shrug. "But in my defense I did allow myself to get captured so I could return here and keep an eye on him…?"

"And then sexually tormented him and used me as your —"

"Perhaps we should explain to your director…?" Loki says knowingly, nodding to the phone. Darcy colors and switches off the speakerphone, holding it to her ear.

"Anyway, Nicky, we're in trouble. Loki and I are on our way. Darcy out."

Loki stares at her as she returns her iPhone to her purse.

"What?" she asks.

"Did you just call him 'Nicky'?" he asks, wincing.

"Fuck," Darcy breathes, her palm to her forehead.

"Yeah, you're going to pay for that one…" Loki mutters, snickering into his hand.

* * *

When they arrive at SHIELD, Captain America meets them in his full gear. He opens the cab door for Darcy.

"What's going on?" he asks. "Director Fury said that you have _Loki_ with you?"

"Are you going to open the door for me?" Loki calls through the cab door and Steve pales, glaring at Darcy.

"You didn't."

"I did," Darcy admits, trying not to grimace.

"Yes, she did," Loki says with a broad grin, exiting the cab with all his normal flare. He walks over to stand face-to-face with Steve, towering over him with a few inches of lankiness. "_Lovely_ to see you again, Captain," he says with a grin, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder is mock camaraderie.

Steve tightens his jaw and stares right back, and for a moment Darcy is sure that someone is going to get punched. Part of her wants to let it happen, to let one fell the other to the sidewalk and straddle him to continue landing the blows across his face, their limbs intertwining as they struggle, breath coming in sharp gasps and grunts of pain and exertion and super-human strength and…

"Boys, now is not the time," she says, pushing them apart with her hands and trying not to enjoy the taught muscles her hands encounter. Wedging herself between them she can't help but think how ideal this would be in another setting, but she promises herself a cold shower and reminds herself now is not the time.

Steve watches Loki with careful eyes but steps back.

"Follow Miss Lewis inside," he orders, and doesn't for a second take his eyes off the trickster. Darcy sees his hand stray to his waist and reminds herself that he is probably resting his hand on his gun and not anything else.

"Oh, this is fun," Loki enthuses.

"Your brother might die, remember?" Darcy adds, stomping through the entrance and towards the elevators. It's making her nervous how quickly his mood has shifted. Loki is always mercurial, but now that he is outside of Stark Towers, Darcy is worried.

"Enjoy the moment, Darcy," Loki purrs, grinning as he curiously inspects every inch of the lobby. "_Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero_, isn't that what your philosophers say?"

"No one says _anything_ in Latin," Darcy mutters, miffed that an extra-terrestrial knows more about her history than she does.

He ignores her and continues to stare happily around the lobby until as Steve forces him onto the elevator, no patience for his curiosity. Even as the doors close, Loki peers around, looking like a child in a candy store.

* * *

The ride up is tense and Darcy tries to ignore again any strange impulses making her knees weak — and she's fairly certain both men are plotting to kill each other. She catches a few sideways glances from Loki, who is blatantly sweeping his eyes over the Captain's backside in his spandex. She isn't sure whether he is scoping him out as competition or companion, but either way, Darcy is afraid she might faint. Instead, she runs over the facts of the investigation in her head, imagining them in a SHIELD file. She is familiar with the format, as Jane frequently has her write up reports: Incident, people involved, place, time, the facts. She has to stay focused, and maybe she can make sense of the details.

"Fuck," she breathes, as a thought becomes clear. "Fuck, guys! Fuck!"

"Oh, I would love to, but now is not the time," Loki says, face straight as he stares ahead — although Darcy catches his lip twitch a bit as he enjoys his own joke.

But now isn't the time for that or for his jokes.

"No, no! You guys, this is really bad!"

"What's wrong, Darcy?" Steve asks seriously, glaring at Loki and his joking. It's almost as if he thinks that if he is forceful enough in his chivalry that Loki will have to pick up the good habit.

"The bad guys…"

"I believe they call themselves ARROW, the Association for the Redemption and Revolution of Organized World —" Loki cuts in.

"That's stupid," Darcy says. "Anyway, these Association folks, they hacked our files."

"Yes." Steve re-crosses his arms, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"So they know our protocols," Darcy says, all but flapping her arms with badly-contained urgency.

"Why does that matter?" Loki asks.

"They know 5C dash nineteen!" Darcy cries, frantically pressing the lobby button in an attempt to make the elevator return to the ground floor. "They know about the safe house! They know where Jane and Thor are!"

Steve gives her a look of pure terror as the realization hits home and is suddenly speaking through his com to the headquarters' dispatcher, requesting agents and sending information along to Fury. When Darcy looks over to Loki, she sees that he has magically changed his normal everyday wear to battle gear, the ridiculous horned helmet and the leather-and-metal breastplate.

"Darcy, you take Loki back to Stark Towers," Steve commands as they stride out of the lobby.

"No way, Cap," she argues. "I'm helping. I'm her intern, after all." She has the taser out of her purse and is arming it as she speaks. "Wouldn't be the first time I had to save her."

"Absolutely not," Steve says flatly.

"And what of me?" Loki interjects. "Those agents Fury has assigned are fifteen blocks out; we'll surely reach my brother before they do."

"You — I wouldn't trust in the same room as Thor," Steve says, pointing an accusatory finger at Loki. "Anyway, we don't even know the time-table," he adds forcefully. "It's possible that ARROW won't chose to move until tomorrow, or the next day."

"Yes we do," Loki says. "Or we can." He pauses momentarily, his face going blank, and then blinks a few times. When he returns, his face is troubled and he begins walking faster.

"What is it? Hey, Reindeer man!" Darcy calls, trotting to keep up; he has already hailed a cab, remarkable considering his clothing.

"Those three agents that were patrolling the perimeter at your safe house?" he says, his breathing short.

"Yeah?" Darcy asks.

"They're dead," he says simply. "The 'Association' — as you call it — is already there."


	8. Deep Breath

"19th and Park," Steve tells the cab driver, trying to ignore the scraping noise of Loki's horns against the car roof.

They pile into the backseat, and Darcy is pleasantly wedged between the two of them, a feeling she can't fully enjoy. Adrenalin is pulsing through her veins, making her feel slap-happy and wide-awake. She is sure that she could win a round of Jeopardy or come up with a few great yo-mama jokes, but she has to remind herself where they are going.

Ironically, staying on task doesn't help this time. The idea makes her feel sick to her stomach, so she distracts herself by looking around. Steve and Loki look completely calm; the former, however, is still rather perturbed by his companion's attire.

"Are those…" He gestures to the horns and fades off. "Do they serve a purpose?"

Loki glares at him and rolls his eyes.

"Says the fool wrapped up in a flag," Loki mutters.

"Hey, this is armor," Steve says, patting the star on his chest, looking severely offended. As he moves he jostles Darcy, his elbow grazing along the side of her chest.

"Sorry," he mutters, coloring.

"By Heimdall's helmet," Loki mutters again. Darcy is fairly certain that he is making up his oaths.

"What's your problem, Loki?" Steve snaps, glaring at him. His glare, however, is marred by the bright pink staining his cheeks.

"They won't bite, I promise," Loki drawls, looking towards Darcy's rather prominent breasts.

Steve accidentally follows Loki's eyeline and reddens even deeper, quickly staring at the ground.

"See?" Loki says pleasantly, reaching out to cup one in his hands. "I remain unscathed. Care to give it a try? Conquer your fears?"

"Guys, I'm right here," Darcy says, deadpan. "Like, right here."

"I know," Loki says with a wink, squeezing his hand the littlest bit.

"You are the strangest human being I have ever met," Darcy says, brushing away his hand, more annoyed than aroused. He grins at her response. "Although I suppose technically you're _not_ human…" she mutters.

"I do a fairly good impression of one, don't I?" Loki asks wickedly.

"Shut _up_," Darcy breathes, watching as the captain looks positively miserable with embarrassment.

"I'm not even here," Loki says, raising his hands in defeat. He makes himself invisible; she can feel him pressed against her, but without that warmth she would have assumed he was gone.

"Sorry about… him," Steve says lamely.

"Oh, that's just Loki," Darcy says dismissively. "And… while we're on apologies... you know… sorry about... me."

He looks at her, scrunched against her in the tight space, and his bright blue puppy dog eyes make her heart melt.

"About all this," Darcy tries to elaborate. "Sorry about… fucking your dopplegänger."

The cab driver in the front seat is looking curiously in his rearview mirror, perhaps concerned that one of his passengers has vanished, but probably more intrigued by Darcy's confession.

Steve shifts awkwardly in the small space, scratching his hairline as he tries to think of something to say.

"And you're right," Darcy confesses. "It… it was maybe about you."

He opens his mouth but then closes it without saying anything.

"And…"

"Look, Darcy," he says gingerly, "now really isn't the time…"

"_Carpe diem_ with minimum qualms?" she tries.

He chuckles but then checks himself.

His eyebrows peak as her murmurs, "We sort of have a life-or-death situation…"

"Well that was amazing…" Loki says, reappearing. "-ly awkward," he adds, glaring at Darcy.

"What?" she mouths at him. He rolls his eyes.

Steve looks over at Loki, his lips pursed.

"May I help you?" Loki asks, peacocking a bit under the captain's gaze.

"Nothing," he says too quickly. "I was just thinking… if you weren't here, Darcy and I… we could have spoken in private... on my motorcycle."

"Motorcycle," Loki echoes knowingly to Darcy, giving her an impressed look.

Darcy punches his arm in the tight space, knowing she won't do any damage. But she's mad: she could have had this conversation in private at stop lights, her arms wrapped around the captain's waist as she straddled him.

They have arrived at their conversations and her fantasies will have to wait for a later time, especially as she is fairly certain they are coloring her expression.

As Steve pays, Loki whispers in her ear.

"Sorry." He sounds genuinely contrite.

"Let's just focus on saving your brother and my boss, okay?" Darcy says, sounding crabby even to herself.

"And after all that is over…?" Loki suggests.

"If you're asking me to hate-fuck you, you have terrible timing."

"No, not me," Loki says, his eyes following as Steve gets out of the car.

"Stop it!" Darcy punches him again.

"Are you guys coming?" Steve asks, poking his head through the open door.

"You're right," Loki says. "He does know how to turn a phrase. It is just _so _tempting…"

As Steve runs up the steps to the apartment complex, Darcy closes the cab door.

"Hey miss," the driver calls. "Are you…" he gives a lewd look, and then continues, "with both of them?"

"Much worse than that," Darcy says darkly. When he doesn't move, but just nods quietly to himself, she asks bluntly, "Anything else? I'm kind of in a hurry."

"And does that guy have a spear?" the cabbie asks.

"Yeah, we're into some pretty kinky stuff," Darcy says with an overly-sweet smile.

"Sorry I asked," the guy says and speeds off. Darcy laughs.

* * *

The first hiccup to their nonexistent plan is when Natasha and Clint aren't at their post. Darcy feels immediately guilty, remembering her rude thoughts towards the red-head, as though she had spoken them aloud.

Both the men she had rode with are almost unrecognizable, completely serious as they peruse the surroundings.

Steve runs his hands over the carpet like he is tracking elk in the underbrush; Loki goes to scout by smashing a window and standing on the fire escape.

"What are these marks?" Steve asks, tracing his hands along a burn on the wall.

"They look like electric burns," Darcy says. "Like my taser did this once to a couch when…"

She colors and shakes herself to get back on focus.

Steve stands hurriedly.

"Agent Romanov's wrist weapons," he says. "She only detonates them in severe circumstances…"

Darcy is rattling the doorknob at apartment 5C.

"It's locked," she says sheepishly.

"Stand aside," Steve commands, and he slams into the door with his shoulder. The frame buckles a bit but the door is still solid.

Loki walks over and pushes it open with one hand.

Steve mutters something; if Darcy doesn't know better, she thinks it was, "I loosened it."

"Brother!" Loki calls, pushing aside furniture as if it's nothing. His strength in this context is terrifying, but it also gives Darcy hope. They practically have two gods on their side. Everything will be fine.

Still, she worries that no one has responded to them knocking down the door.

"Jane?" she calls, opening closets. The apartment is modest, and there aren't that many rooms. She finds that her heart is again ringing in her ears with worry as each try proves fruitless and the options dwindle.

"In here!" Steve calls, and they all run into the bedroom.

"Please have clothing on," Darcy whispers to herself.

Both of them are clothed — in pajamas, but better than nothing — and on the bed as though asleep.

Steve takes their pulse.

"They're alive," he confirms, and Darcy breathes a sigh of relief.

But something isn't right — if they are sleeping, why haven't they woken up? And why does Thor have his hand around mjölnir.

"I've found Barton!" Loki calls from the kitchen. "And his… lady friend."

Darcy walks in to find that Loki is poking Natasha with the toe of his boot, his mouth twisted in distaste; apparently she left quite an impression on him when they last spoke.

"Why are they all sleeping?" Darcy asks.

"Have they been drugged?" Steve asks, looking around the apartment for food.

"I dunno," Darcy says, yawning. The adrenalin rush is gone, leaving her feeling sleepy. She's just so relieved, she can hear her heartbeat slow.

Loki drops his spear and it rattles to the ground; Steve is rubbing at his forehead.

"We need to… need to get Stark or Banner in on this, they'll want to…" he seems to forget his train of thought and then continues, "… blood samples."

Darcy gives up trying to understand. She just feels sleepy; her eyes begin to close as she thunks to the ground.

She hears more thumps as Loki goes stumbling across the room as though drunk, and there is a crash, and the sound of combat boots on linoleum.

She wants to tell them to quiet down, that she's trying to sleep, but she's too tired to speak.

When she blinks again, there are men in gas-masks standing over her. But she's just so tired…

* * *

It's a dream, and she dreams of a shirtless Steve Rogers. It's glorious, except that someone is trying to strangle him, and his shirt is only open because someone has ripped it.

She tries to focus; on his nose, which is gushing blood, or the way that he is being held in a headlock. Something else distracts her; the cold feeling of a gun barrel pressed against her temple.

This doesn't bother her; she's so tired, it's just a dream. What a strange dream.

Meanwhile, she sees three vague forms, joined by a fourth. They struggle and fall to the ground. A figure by the door fades in a green light.

Steve is staring at her, his eyelids heavy as well.

"Darcy," he murmurs, like he is sleep talking.

And with his final strength, before he collapses, he throws himself at the man holding a gun to Darcy's head.

The gunshot is loud, louder than she could have imagined, and her ears are ringing. It doesn't wake her up, though, and through her foggy brain an idea comes to her.

She staggers to the window, confounded by the shapes rushing past her. Loki, who is held down like Gulliver's Travels by four men in gas masks. More men with guns, large guns. Lots of strangers in oxygen masks.

Once she makes it to the window, she feels her knees fold and presses her hand weakly into the pane, trying to knock into it.

"Open," she murmurs weakly. "Please open." She's going to die in this room, and then these men are going to find Jane and Thor sleeping in their pajamas and kill them. It's sad, so sad she wants to cry. But the desire to sleep is all-powerful.

As her lids close, she can't see as Loki realizes what she is trying to do, but she hears his roar and a crashing noise as the window shatters. She feels the glass bite into her face and the fresh air, but she gives in to blackness.

* * *

When Darcy wakes, her face is numb. As she blinks, it feels tight along certain patches, as though her tears have dried.

She reaches up to clear her face — what a strange dream she was having — when a hand holds back her arm.

"Don't." It's Steve's voice, so she listens.

"Ow," she says faintly.

"Does your face hurt?" Steve asks.

"No, but my chest…" She makes a noise; breathing hurts. "It feels like someone was dancing on it."

Through her bleary eyes, she sees Steve crack a relieved smile, his whole face lighting up.

"I may have given you CPR," he murmurs. "And you may have a few cracked ribs," he adds apologetically.

"And I missed it?" she cries, outraged. Her chest complains at the big motion of yelling and she winces.

"Sorry," he murmurs, brushing a piece of hair off her face.

"Ugh." She relaxes back onto the bed and stares up at the fluorescent light above. "Where am I? Is everyone okay?" she asks.

She tilts her head to try to get a better look at him; he is sitting by a chair pulled up to her bed. Whatever bloody nose he got is faded; it looks like it may have been broken, by the way he has dark bruises under his eyes, but the black and blues are fading quickly. His lip is cut and he has more marks around his throat, but he seems to be in one piece.

"Everyone made it," he says with a smile. "Even those agents Loki thought were dead. And we're back at SHIELD, floor four recovery."

"Recovering from what?" Darcy asks.

"Well you did take a glass window to the face," he says gently. "The rest was carbon monoxide," he says. "At least, that's what Dr. Banner said…"

"Colorless, odorless, and perfectly easy to come across," Bruce says, striding over. He smiles wanly at Darcy, clearly glad he didn't have to go out into the field for this one. "And easy to introduce into the New York City steam system. It's where all buildings get their heat and — unfortunately — comes from below ground, an area we weren't patrolling. Once the vents opened up…"

He shakes his head.

"Unfortunately, ARROW gassed the whole apartment complex, so that'll be a headache for Fury to explain," Bruce mutters, rubbing his forehead.

"Actually, it was more like the square block," Tony says, striding over. "Sorry to hear about your face," he says. "But hey, who knows, it could be an improvement." His sarcasm makes Darcy laugh, but her lungs aren't full so it comes out sounding halfhearted.

"That's not funny, Tony," Steve says seriously. "Dr. Banner fixed you up."

"It's the closest I get to art," he admits with a little shrug as though it isn't a big deal that he sewed her face back together. "Luckily Steve provided me with a guide."

The idea that Steve carries around a photo her or, better yet, sketched a picture of her face from memory is a strange concept; the heart monitor behind her registers the uptick in her heart.

"Don't worry," Steve says quickly, his hand rubbing the back of hers. It hasn't moved, and its presence is nice. "You'll look just the same."

"Once the swelling goes down," Bruce promises.

"Oh lovely, just how monstrous do I look?" Darcy groans.

"On a scale of normal to Hulk?" Tony asks. "Probably... Hawkeye."

"I heard that," comes a sulky voice from a few beds down.

"So any permanent damage?" Darcy asks, trying to ignore the way Steve's thumb is rubbing the back of her hand in a very distracting way.

"We didn't find any evidence of brain damage from the MRI," Bruce says hopefully. "As with any time the brain is starved of oxygen, portions can become damaged or…"

"You're kidding me," Darcy says.

"But from the scans you—"

"No," she interrupts. "You're telling me I could have faked amnesia?!"

"… did you want to?" Bruce asks.

"Oh, Doctor," Tony cuts in, grinning evilly. "Your ignorance is adorable."

Tony leads him away by the arm, and by Bruce's face he is already into the dirty details; from his pocket he produces another thumb drive and both Steve and Darcy blush.

"Is Jane here?" Darcy asks, trying to focus on the important parts. Now that she is awake, her face is starting to throb in a subtle way that is just steady enough to make her feel nauseous.

"They're on twelve," Steve answers, laughing a bit. "Thor was pretty angry."

"I'd bet," Darcy says, trying not to wince too obviously.

Steve sighs and leans to hit the painkiller button on her hospital bed.

"One more thing?" she asks, but he is already adding the meds to her IV and she is drifting back to sleep.

"Yeah?" he asks gently.

"Where's Loki?"

As her eyes close, she feels him squeeze her hand gently.

That's all the answer she needs to be sure of what she already knew: that Loki is long gone.


	9. Loki'd

When Darcy wakes a second time, it's to low voices arguing right over her bed.

"But if we assume standard conditions…" one voice suggests.

"You're forgetting about Boyle's law," the other interjects. "Calculating the original number of moles would be a question of –"

"Reverse engineering using Charles's law," they both chorus.

Darcy blinks and makes out two brown blurs sitting over her, leaning in over her body to talk more intimately. They both turn to look at her as she stirs.

"It's awake," she hears the first voice say, and her mind tiredly recognizes it as Tony. Logic says that the other blur must be Bruce.

"Ughh," she says in response, sounding very much like an "it." Her face still feels taught in certain places and she figures it must be so swollen and stitched up that she must look like an "it" as well.

"Cap made us promise to watch you," Tony tells her. "Fury's got him for a debriefing."

"It's unnecessary — considering we do have staff here…" Bruce mutters. "Also, she's completely stable."

"Rogers watched you while you were sleeping," Tony says with a knowing nod, ignoring Bruce's rationalizations. "I wonder what that means," he says, extra-loud, and Darcy can hear the wink even if her eyes are too blurry to see it clearly.

"Ugh," Darcy complains at the yelling.

"Did you never hear that story about Coulson?" Tony adds, turning to Bruce. When the other man shakes his head, he launches excitedly into the story, his voice at full volume. Even though Darcy's vision isn't back to 20/20 yet, she can clearly read Bruce's expression: he looks as though he is regretting all the decisions he has made in life that have brought him to this moment where he can't escape more of Tony's stories.

"Is there any chance I can leave here soon?" she asks, trying not to slur her words. Her face still feels weird, and talking is strange. She doesn't even know how long she has been there, but judging by the light it's evening and judging by her hunger, it's the same day.

"Yeah, any chance she can leave here soon?" a familiar voice asks.

"Jane!"

"Hey, Darcy," her boss says, patting her foot through the covers. It's an awkward gesture, but the two men are blocking her and Darcy isn't really feeling up to hugs — and Jane is never really good at showing affection through physical contact.

"You look… normal," Darcy says, her voice sounding like a strangled goose call. She doesn't mean to sound as jealous as she does, and at the obvious affect in her voice, Jane laughs.

"Well not all of us got into a fight with a window," she says kindly, covering her small smile with her hand.

"He started it," Darcy mutters.

"Anyway, Doc, can I take her home?"

"I don't see why not," Bruce replies. "Just make sure to keep her hydrated…"

Darcy zones out as the doctors begin their doctor-speak, vaguely aware that they look ridiculous as they spit out large words and gesticulate wildly with their hands. Even if Jane never officially got her MD, her genius and curiosity means she can throw around large medical terms. Even Tony looks impressed.

Darcy, however, is bored by the long words and lets herself drift back to sleep.

* * *

A few weeks later Darcy returns to SHIELD to have her stitches removed. It feels weird to be back, like nothing has changed but everything is different, like returning to high school a year after graduation. She considers putting in her iPod and listening to sad music, but thinks better of it and heads to the recovery room.

"How have you been?" Dr. Banner asks as he clips the stitches and carefully removes them. Darcy winces, more out of squeamishness than pain.

"Chilling at home," she replies when he finishes with that section of her face and moves back. "Fury gave me plenty of sick leave…"

"Catching up your favorite sitcoms?" Bruce asks, smiling a bit as he tugs at the sutures in her face.

"Mhmm," Darcy replies. "I also watch a lot of TV to drown out the noises of Jane and Thor going at it like rabbits."

Bruce pauses and says, "Ah," very quietly, and Darcy suddenly has to wonder if blushing will make the holes in her face bleed more. The idea makes her queasy.

"Did you see that special on the news?" he changes the subject, dabbing at her face. Evidently it is oozing. Darcy looks at the ceiling and tries to name all the US states and capitals in her mind.

"Well did you?" he presses gently, and she realizes he is trying to distract her with polite conversation.

"What special?" she asks, her voice uneven, trying to play along.

"Well, Director Fury had to give a cover story to the news about the missing agent…"

"Missing?" Darcy asks, flinching, and Bruce has to quickly move his hand away so he doesn't rip out her stitches.

"The double agent," he says calmly, steadying her face with a free hand. "The one that hacked Dr. Foster's computer?"

When Darcy doesn't reply, he continues: "Apparently he worked for Director Fury back in the day and was injured when his commanding officer made a bad call. So he founded ARROW and well… was able to use his old credentials."

"Oops," Darcy murmurs, wincing again at the strange pulling sensation across her face. "I bet that got someone fired."

"Well, all set," Bruce says cheerfully, sliding back.

"So what happened?" Darcy asks.

"How do you mean?"

"Did Fury murder him or something?" she asks, standing and inspecting her face in a mirror. It looks almost normal, although she can see some pink marks where her face was cut.

"Oh, those will fade," the doctor tells her, nodding to the lines on her face. "Minimal scarring, if any."

"_Did _he murder him?" Darcy presses.

Bruce laughs softly, and it sounds forced. "I'm sure he didn't."

Darcy has the strangest feeling that he's lying and he's not sure, and she stands there looking concerned. And wondering if one bad nickname is enough for her name to be next of Fury's list.

* * *

As she's leaving, she hears a voice calling her. The elevator doors close on a large hand; they sweep back like theater curtains to reveal Steve Rogers.

"Hey," he says shyly.

"Hello," she says pleasantly, blushing and wondering how stupid her face looks.

"You got the stitches out," he says with a broad smile.

"Yep," she says. He looks perfect, Darcy realizes. Completely healed from their brawl a few weeks prior. It makes her glad to know that such a piece of human artwork remains unmarred by the trials of war.

He stands next to her, hands clasped over his belt buckle like a good soldier.

"So—" they both say at the same time, and then break off, both giggling and blushing like middle schoolers.

"You first," Darcy mutters, laughing awkwardly.

"You look lovely," he replies courteously.

"Thanks," she replies, blushing again and staring at the ground.

"What were you going to say?" he asks politely.

"I'm not sure," Darcy admits. She smiles and looks shyly back up at him. "It was probably something about your ass," she adds dryly.

He laughs, a full laugh that makes her ribcage feel warm.

"Well, as always, I'm glad to be the butt of your jokes," he says. The pun is lame but Darcy smiles anyway.

They stand in silence for a while and Darcy tries not to think about his butt.

"Wow, Fury is really making me pay for that comment," she says wryly, looking at how slowly the numbers go ticking by.

"That may be my fault," Steve says bashfully, ruffling his hair a bit. "I told the techs that I wanted to ask you out, and made them promise they wouldn't open the doors until you said yes."

Darcy's heart flutters and she isn't sure what to say.

"So you're holding me hostage?" she is able to joke with fake hysteria.

"I suppose so," he admits with another wry smile.

She finds this is an acceptable excuse to punch him in the chest and he laughs again.

"This is unacceptable. What happens if I don't say anything? We're stuck here?"

"I suppose we could find a way to pass the time," he says wickedly, his eyes drifting down her body.

"Lord Jesus take the wheel," Darcy murmurs, eyes going wide.

"What?"

"It's a date. You know where I live," she says hurriedly. These are the magic words: the doors open on the lobby.

"How about dinner? Meet me at _La Cucina_ on fifth," he says. "Tonight, eight o'clock?"

Darcy will be there. She will be there if the world ends, if there's a blizzard, is gigantic anteaters take over New York City — which, she considers wryly as she heads to the subway — would not be the strangest thing to happen that week.

* * *

Her palms are sweaty. How ridiculous. She always thought that was a thing that only happened in the movies. Then again, she remembers her date: Steve Rogers, Captain America, the Star-Spangled Man with an Ass Sculpted by Zeus. Any normal mortal would be nervous.

She checks her reflection in the kitschy Italian painting across from her booth, going through the checklist of her assets as though it is a pre-mission briefing. Her cleavage could murder a man. Her lipstick is blood red. Her hair is curled like a pin-up calendar. All in all, combat ready. She has to smile at her own hotness; she may not be a super-soldier, but she could still make a few hearts stop.

The bell on the front door tinkles and she sees him walk in, impossibly tall and perfect. He hair combed his hair for her, she can tell. He's wearing a skinny tie and a button-down shirt and she wonders how long he spent picking out clothes, whether he asked Tony or Bruce for help, if Thor made him do a shot of Asgardian mead for strength, if Natasha gave him a condom, if Hawkeye tried to slip him a copy of the _kama sutra_.

He looks concerned, his brows peaked, and he talks to the maître d' for a few moments. Eventually he is directed towards her booth, and when their eyes meet his face seems to relax, as though he's finally able to take a deep breath.

"Hi," he says, sliding into the booth. It's a u-shape, so she knows that if she moves a little bit to her left, their thighs will be touching. Instead, she swallows and slides a bit to her right.

"Hi," she replies after a moment, smiling. The expression feels a bit manic, as though her lips are too being pulled too wide. She just can't help it; Steve Rogers is sitting next to her at a candlelit booth, smiling bashfully at her through his eyelashes. She sends a silent prayer to all the gods she can think of, half thankful and half asking for the strength not to rip off his clothing.

"So…"she tries, but no words come to her.

They both fade into silence.

"_Bunoasera_ and welcome," the waiter says, appearing at their table. He does a little bow that turns into a strange little jig. "Can I take your order?" He looks like a comic book character and has an Italian accent like someone doing a bad impression. The long mustache, twirled at the ends, completes the look. Both Steve and Darcy look at each other and try not to laugh. Darcy has to cover her mouth.

"Uh…" Steve pauses. He jabs a finger randomly at the menu.

"Ah, the carbonara? Excellent choice. And for the _bella signora_?"

Darcy giggles and tries to say, "Margherita pizza," with as much dignity as she can muster.

The waiter sweeps away and they both giggle, the tension dissolving.

"Is he for real?" Darcy asks between laughs, wiping at her eyes.

"I guess?" Steve laughs.

"Wow this place is amazing," Darcy sighs.

"Very authentic," Steve supplies, and they both dissolve into giggles again, Darcy reaching out to steady herself.

As her hand falls as his they fall into silence again.

"Water for the pretty lady?" the waiter appears and pours some into her glass before she has a chance to respond.

"Thanks," she says. When she looks up, she catches a look on the waiter's gaze; his eyes narrow.

"I think he has a crush on you," she whispers to Steve as the waiter sweeps away dramatically again.

"Are you getting jealous?" Steve asks.

"Obviously. I mean," Darcy says, deadpan, "I don't think I would stand a chance. My moustache isn't nearly as magnificent."

She pretends to twirl an imaginary mustache.

"Yours suits you," Steve replies with another smile.

"Best compliment I've received in a long while," Darcy says, unconsciously leaning in towards him. "Anything else you'd like to add?"

"You have nice… eyelashes," Steve blurts out.

Darcy laughs a bit awkwardly, unsure of how to respond.

"Sorry," he mutters, staring down at his place setting. "I… I like sketching you and I just have always noticed that…"

He trails off and gives her an apologetic smile.

"You've sketched me?" she asked.

"I mean — not like —" he stutters.

She laughs and he tries to escape from the conversation by taking a drink of water.

"Well, let me know if you need to any studies," she says. "I've modeled for some art students before back in college — when I really needed the extra bucks."

"How was that?" Steve asks, bringing the cup to his lips. He seems excited that they have a found a topic they can safely discuss: art.

"Cold," she says bluntly. "Since they were anatomy studies — and they wanted me to be nude."

Steve chokes on his water.

"More water _signor_?" the waiter reappears and pours water into Steve's glass; as Steve hasn't had a chance to put it back on the table and is still holding it halfway to his lips, some of the water slops onto his shirt. The waiter sweeps away without another comment and Steve stares at him looking absolutely baffled by what has just happened.

"Here," Darcy says, patting at the wet mark on his white shirt with her napkin. She wonders if this is a sign from any of the religious figures she has prayed to.

He smiles back at her and thanks her sheepishly.

"Costume malfunction," she jokes. "Should I send you back to wardrobe?"

"Part of the job," he replies genially. "Nothing I can't handle."

"You mean you have a wardrobe for your press tours?" she asks.

"Where do you think I got this?" he asks.

She stares. "You asked your publicist to dress you for this?"

He reddens and admits, "I didn't know what to wear."

She smiles again.

"And did this publicist do your hair and makeup?" Darcy asks archly.

"Not tonight," he replies, patting his hair.

"You usually wear makeup?!" Darcy screeches.

The food appears and as Darcy enthusiastically eats her pizza, Steve launches into a story about his latest press tour between bites of pasta.

"And so I've decided that the average baby spits up approximately once every three minutes," he concludes.

"Of course," she smiles. Imagining him holding a baby makes her want to cry hysterically into her napkin. It's worse than a puppy in a cup or those photos of bunny rabbits kissing noses.

"So," he asks conversationally, "how is your work at SHIELD?"

"Hm?" she asks, taking another bite of pizza.

"I just… I wanted to hear how things are with you?"

They're like magic words, and Darcy is struck dumb. It's been so long since someone asked her like this — like Steve, who looks so sincere as he looks at her, his blue eyes locked on hers patiently. He is expecting an answer, an honest answer. Not just the normal "okay" or the small talk explanation of her work that she has prepared for meeting with aunts or talking to hairdressers.

And she tells him, and he really listens.

"Thursdays are my least favorite day," she explains. "Because after my usually coffee run I have to finish the post-bi-weekly meeting recap forms and Jane always forgets…"

* * *

When the waiter stops by to silently slide the bill onto their table, Darcy reaches for it. It's a stupid move, and Steve easily beats her to it.

"Can I…?" she asks getting out her wallet.

He looks at her with mock anger.

"Could I possibly convince you that people always go Dutch in the twenty-first century?" she tries.

"Not a chance in hell," he says, removing bills from his wallet and putting them with the check. "I'm a fucking gentleman, remember?"

"Keep up that language, mister, and I'll have to wash your mouth out with soap."

"I'd like to see you try," he replies, raising an eyebrow impishly.

She wonders if this is an invitation to kiss him. Her eyes find his lips at the very thought. To make matters worse, her heart begins pounding so loudly like it's trying to escape from her chest and she hopes that his super-solider powers don't include super-hearing. In her peripheral vision she sees the waiter swoop by to take the money, and wonders if the moment is gone. But a little voice in her head says _carpe diem_, and she knows that since she looked at those lips she'll never be able to look away until she feels them against her own.

"I'm so glad you asked me," she murmurs, leaning in and closing her eyes.

"I'm so glad _you_ asked _me_," he corrects her, laughing quietly as he leans in as well.

"No I didn't," Darcy giggles, smacking his chest half-heartedly with a hand. "Own your gentlemanliness," she commands. "It was really sweet of you to make the first move.

He pulls back.

"But I didn't," he says, brows together in confusion. "You stopped by the gym—"

"No," she replies, eyes wide. "You asked me in the elevator."

"You told me this is where your grandfather used to take you."

"You told me that you blackmailed the tech guys."

"What?" he chokes out.

"What are you talking about?"

They stare at each other.

"Where is that waiter?" Steve mutters. "I still haven't gotten my change."

They look towards the door and catch a glimpse of the waiter, leaving.

"Hey!" Steve calls.

The mustachioed chap turns to give them a wink, a mustache twirl — and as the door closes, Darcy sees a flash of green light.

"Was that—" Steve asks, paling.

Darcy's jaw falls open.

"Yep," she squeaks out.

They both stare in shock.

"Well," Darcy begins a bit lamely, "I guess as tricks go that wasn't terrible."

Steve is still staring.

"You gonna be okay?" Darcy asks, seeing that he is pale white.

When he doesn't say anything, she asks again, "Steve? What's wrong?"

"I thought it was you," he says, still staring at the door.

"So technically you agreed to go on date with Loki?" Darcy asks. "Well, you got me instead. Hope you aren't too disappointed." Her joking tone falls flat.

"I said yes," he repeats hollowly. "And then I was so glad that I —"

His voice breaks and he turns to stare at Darcy with wide eyes.

"Oh no," she says. "Not you too."

"Darcy, _I've made out with a trickster god_," Steve says, horrified.

"There's a worse issue here," Darcy says.

"What could be worse?" Steve asks, burying his face in his hands.

"You still haven't kissed me yet," she replies, grinning at him.

He looks up at her through his fingers, the agony fading from his face.

"Is that something you'd like to remedy anytime soon?" she asks bluntly when he makes no move to do so.

"I could do that," he replies, sitting up.

"I'll be the judge of that," Darcy says, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?" he replies, cradling her face in his hands. "I have to warn you, I am sort of a superhero."

"Shut up and kiss me, Captain America."

"Yes ma'am," he replies, and leans in to comply.


	10. Epilogue

Darcy stands in the hallway of Steve's apartment, her arms crossed. It's after their third date, and she might murder anyone if she has to wait any longer to get in his star-spangled pants. It was bad enough just kissing during that movie, and it was pure torture being asked to keep her hands above the waist when they went rollerblading and picnicking in the park.

But third date, they've discussed this.

"And this is the kitchen," he says finally, flourishing his arm towards the immaculate room.

"Is that the last room?" she asks.

"Yep," he replies. "I know it's not that big —"

"Thank _god_," she groans. "That tour was taking so long."

"Darcy, I only have four rooms," Steve replies, eyes crinkling.

"I guess that means we have four different choices," she replies.

"Choices?"

"Venues," she clarifies.

"Oh, I assumed you wanted to use the kitchen," he says.

"Why?" she asks, making a face at the idea of the cold tile.

"It seems like the right room to bake muffins," he says innocently.

She grabs onto the back of his neck and kisses him hard on the mouth.

"You are such a smartass," she growls into his ear, biting a bit on his earlobe. She hears him groan a bit in response and instinctively lean in towards her, pressing against her even harder.

He is a little short of breath as he replies with a wicked smile, "I suppose I do have a pretty smart ass."

She grabs the offending body part and enjoys the way his breath hitches at the movement.

"But to be fair," he says between breaths, "Yours is pretty spectacular as well."

Her eyes widen as he returns the gesture, caressing the whole of her thigh with ridiculously large hands.

They both laugh as he hefts her up and carries her to the bedroom, planting kisses right above her neckline.

"One thing, before we begin," he says, stripping off her shirt.

"Too late," she pants, wiggling out of her leggings and panties.

He gently caresses her, fingers tracing her thigh and slowly pressing just where she needs them.

"Promise me one thing," he says, his fingers never halting in their rhythmic movement; in a cry of desperation she reaches to the return the favor, tugging at his pants. However, she quickly fails in her endeavor; her hands have to clutch at the bed sheets and he chuckles at her struggles, at the way he has her completely in the palm of his hand.

"Promise me," he purrs.

"Technically, I'm under duress and any agreements made are not permissible in a court of law," she pants out.

"Is that so?" he asks archly, and she almost cries out as he teases her with his fingers.

"What is it?" she pants out. "Anything okay — anything just…"

"Promise me," he says, leaning forward to kiss her navel, "that under no circumstances…"

She cries out again as his lips move further down.

"… Never _ever,_ no matter what,will you call me Loki."

"Okay," she whimpers.

She grabs onto his hair, and makes sure that when she has to, it's his name she screams out.

* * *

Steve and Darcy are sprawled across his bed as though they are stargazing into the ceiling — which isn't that far from the truth, as Darcy is fairly certain she might be seeing stars like in those Saturday morning cartoons. Steve, however, is more relaxed, hands absentmindedly tracing lines on her thigh. As she tries to catch her breath, a though occurs to her and can't help but giggle.

"What?" he asks, his hand coming to rest above her knee.

"I'm glad we picked the bedroom," she replies. "Good, solid choice. Classic. Ten out of ten. Would recommend for fucking."

"Really?" he asks. "Because when I brought you here… I just meant that we could start here. I was thinking we could try the kitchen next."

She sighs and stretches out across the bed, smiling up at the ceiling. He slides up over her to kiss her collarbone, her chin, her nose, and finally her lips.

"Steve Rogers," she says when she can, "May I just say, I love fucking you."

"Darcy Lewis," he replies. "May I just say, I fucking love you."

* * *

Across town, Tony shows up at Natasha's apartment in a trench coat.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she says.

"I've got the goods," Tony says, looking around and over his shoulders and then around once more.

"Just give it to me, asshat," she replies, rolling her eyes. He reaches into his pocket and produces a thumb drive.

"Make sure to make lots of _popcorn_," he says, as though it's some sort of code. Unfortunately, they haven't discussed it before so it makes no sense to either.

"You are enjoying this way too much," Natasha gripes, shutting the door in his face.

She pads through her apartment like a cat, almost silent until she reaches the living room.

Clint is lying on the couch, arm propped up behind him, wearing nothing but one of her leopard skin thongs.

"What are you doing?" she asks tiredly.

"Seducing you…?" he tries. He puts a knee up, awkwardly restrained by the too-small underwear. "Feeling seduced?" he purrs, attempting a wink with one eye and then the other.

She strips off her shirt and throws aside her bra.

"Are you?" she asks, looking down at her bare breasts.

"Oh yes," he says intensely, standing to help her with the rest of her clothing.

She laughs into his embrace and struggles out of her tight pants.

"And Clint?" she asks.

"Yeah?" he pants.

"I hope you don't mind… I've got some multimedia components."


End file.
